


A Reversal of Fate

by FeralScribe



Series: Widomauk Week 2019 Prompts [10]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bathhouse-related nudity, Caleb is a flirtatious scoundrel with a heart of gold and a past he's better off without, Canon Rewrite, Carnival Amnesiac Caleb, Don’t copy to another site, Fate Swap, M/M, Molly's backstory is based on my theories about Lucien's canon origins, Other, PTSD flashbacks, Pining, Role Reversal, Same Classes and Stats - Different Backstories, Shy Traumatized Mollymauk, Smut Shopping, Team Tief bonding, Touch-Starved, Widomauk Week, rating and warnings will update as fic progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralScribe/pseuds/FeralScribe
Summary: Mollymauk has been on the run from his past for years, hiding his face behind drab cloaks and a layer of dirt. While stopped at an inn in Trostenwald, his life gets interrupted by a colorful carnival wizard named Caleb and an invitation to a night that will change his life forever.





	1. You All Meet In An Inn...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fateful meeting that started it all.

Mollymauk pulls the drab hood of his cloak further up over his horns and bows his head over his drink. The cold permeates through the cup and his gloves to chill his fingertips. Yasha sits beside him, more open with her appearance but equally uncomfortable. Last night was rough. Molly slept the entire day, watched over by his new companion. Traveling with such a formidable woman has been preferable to slinking through the shadows, stealing what sustenance he can or conning people with his card tricks to earn a few coppers. They still steal and trick people together, but one look at the woman with the massive broadsword across her back, and those people are less likely to try to rough up the scrawny mud-caked tiefling who took their stuff.

Yasha drains her drink. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are you sure you are alright?” she asks.

“Good enough,” Molly mumbles. The bruise on his cheek throbs with a dull pain he can feel in his eye. The cuts he gave himself have already healed — they always heal quickly — but his other wounds itch and sting. The sleep did him good. If Yasha hadn’t been there to save him, though, he would have been done for. He’s starting to lose count of how many times she has saved his life since they broke out of that dingy dungeon of a prison cell a few months ago.

A human man enters the tavern, hat in his hands, searching the room with an eager glance. Molly doesn’t recognize him, but then again he didn’t recognize the people last night and they beat the shit out of him regardless. He bunches his shoulders and runs his fingers over the bandages around his neck to make sure they’re in place. The man makes his way in Molly’s direction. Molly cowers further into himself, heart racing in his chest. There’s a maledict on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back. Fortunately, the man goes to the table next to theirs, which Molly has kept his eye on because there is another tiefling there sitting with a human woman and a half-orc man.

The half-orc greets the human and invites him to sit down. Molly keeps his ears open, as he always does. The half-orc is Fjord, the human woman reminds the man that her name is Beau, and the blue tiefling says her name is Jester. The three of them apparently helped the man out with something the previous day. Molly isn’t paying attention to the details. He’s looking at the other tiefling. This Jester doesn’t hide behind hoods or gloves. She’s in a casual dress, ribbons proudly tied around her horns, a broad bright grin on her face. No one in the packed tavern seems to mind her. At least her eyes look somewhat normal compared to the others around her. And furthermore she probably doesn’t have a target on her back if anyone recognizes her.

Molly has been on the run for so long. There’s a pang of envy in his chest that Jester gets to walk about so freely. Even when Molly keeps his red eyes closed and his purple skin covered with layers of filth, once people notice the horns or the tail that Molly tries to keep tucked under the sash around his waist, they’re quick to call him a devil and chase him away. The nice blonde woman who runs this tavern hadn’t seemed bothered by him, but Yasha did most of the talking when they purchased their room.

What catches Molly’s attention is the amount of coin the man places on the table next to theirs. He dumps it out of his hat and the numerous coppers and silvers bounce across the wooden surface. There’s even a few glints of gold in the pile. Yasha is clearly interested as well, though only because Molly quickly learned to read her generally stoic expressions. He’s good at reading people. It has helped him a lot these past few years.

The man leaves and the trio immediately starts dividing the money amongst themselves. Molly looks to Yasha. With a nod at the coin he whispers, “Do you think…?”

Yasha stares. Molly wishes she wouldn’t do that. She’s going to draw suspicion if they catch her. She shrugs, but in a positive way.

“Are you two staying here?” It’s that other tiefling’s voice, and it’s directed right at Molly and Yasha. Damn it.

Molly tenses. Keeping his head low enough that his hood covers most of his face, he turns to her. He can only see below her shoulders. She has shifted her chair to face them. Her tail swishes behind her in a friendly manner. “Uhm, we are,” Molly says.

Jester takes a couple deep sniffs. “You should take a bath,” she says.

“…What?”

“It’s where you wash yourself with water. You smell pretty bad and it’s wafting over here.”

Molly is confused. He’s well aware that he stinks; it’s part of his disguise. “I—I don’t even know you,” he says.

A blue hand immediately juts into his personal space. “Hi! I’m Jester!”

Molly hesitantly accepts the handshake. “I’m…Molly. Mollymauk.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Jester says in a singsong voice. “Your gloves are really nice.” She ducks her head to look under his hood. He can’t dodge or close it in time. She gasps. “ _Ohmygosh!_ Are you a tiefling too?”

Why is she being so _loud?_ “Y-Yes, I am,” Molly says, trying to pull away. She still has his hand firmly grasped in hers though. She is _strong_.

“Wow! Your eyes are so _cool!_ ”

Molly grows more nervous with every passing second. He wishes she would just leave him alone. Then her gaze goes to his neck and he prays to the Moonweaver that she won’t—

“Oh no! Did you get hurt? I’m a pretty good healer. I could—“ She’s already reaching for his bandages. Molly catches her by the wrist.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he hisses in Infernal.

Jester’s eyes widen in alarm for a second or two, then she pouts. “You don’t have to be rude about it,” she replies, also in Infernal.

While Molly is partially relieved to have this conversation in a language no one else here understands — or so he hopes — Infernal isn’t exactly subtle. A few people at nearby tables are giving them odd looks. Molly winces. “Please,” he whispers in Infernal. “There’s stuff under there I don’t want people to see. I’m fine. Now can we please switch back to Common?”

“Okay,” Jester says in Common. “You look like you got in a fight though.” She gestures to her own face where the bruise is on his. “Do you want me to heal that?”

If it’ll make her leave him alone… “I suppose.”

Jester reaches up to touch his cheek. Molly can sense the divine energy gathering at her fingertips even before the glow is visible. He flinches away from her. No one has touched his skin in a long time. He intends to keep it that way. He offers her his arm instead. She clutches his wrist, albeit with some confusion, but the spell works through cloth. The warmth of her hand spreads up to his injuries. He can feel it throughout his body. When she’s finished his pain is gone.

“That’s impressive,” he says.

“Thank you!” Jester beams with pride. “I told you I was a good healer!”

Beau knocks on the table. “Jester. Your share.” She tosses a handful of coins in front of Jester. “You makin’ friends?” she asks with a nod at Molly.

“Oh, yes! This is Mollymauk!” Jester lowers her voice to barely a whisper. “He is also a tiefling!”

Molly props his elbows on the table and puts his face in his hands. He should never have come downstairs this morning. Yasha flags down the red-headed barmaid and orders them both another round of drinks.

“What’re you drinking?” Beau asks, eyeing Yasha.

“Trosts,” Yasha replies curtly.

“Yeah?” Beau flashes a few coins held between her index and middle finger. “I’ll buy those for you.”

Yasha frowns. “You do not have to. We have our own money.”

Beau puts her hands up. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. Jester’s over here making friends with…your friend, so I figured I’d be friendly too.”

Molly peers through his fingers at the coins Beau is holding. Yes, they have their own money, but not a lot of it. This woman seems like she’s willing to part with a few copper, maybe even a silver. “I could _earn_ the money off you,” he suggests.

Beau cocks an eyebrow at him. “And how would you do that?”

“Cards.”

A sly smile tugs at a corner of Beau’s mouth. “You talking about gambling?”

“That, or I could read your fortune.”

That sours Beau’s expression, but Jester gasps with excitement. “I would _love_ for you to read my fortune!” She hops out of her chair and into the vacant one beside Molly. “How much?”

Molly tries not to check the little pile of coins she left on her table as he gauges how much to charge her. “Two copper.”

“Okay!” Jester reaches over, plucks two copper pieces from her share, and hands them to him. “Here you go!”

“Jester,” Beau says. “Don’t do it. I know these types and they’re all scam artists.”

Jester whirls around to face Beau. “What ‘ _types_ ’? Tieflings?”

“No, so-called ‘fortune tellers’.”

“Molly is good at it,” Yasha says. “And your friend already paid.”

“You can have it back,” Molly says timidly. He holds out the coins in his gloved palm. The last thing he wants is to start a fight. “Here.”

Jester closes his fingers back over the copper. “No. Beau is being a party pooper. I would like my fortune told, please.”

Molly smiles. “Alright, then.” He pulls his worn-out Tarot deck from its pouch on his belt. Shuffling them is a little difficult with his gloves, even though they’re only thin cotton. However, he wears them in public places like this because he never knows who might be watching. They go all the way up under the sleeves of his coat to his elbows. Beneath a layer of dust they’re black with the phases of the moon embroidered in thin white thread up the outer sides. They cost him all the money he had at the time, but they’re worth it.

The barmaid comes with their drinks. Yasha pays and sits back, sipping her drink as she watches Molly work. Molly already has a light buzz numbing the sharp edges of his mind. He’ll drink his second trost when he is finished. For now, he needs clarity.

Jester bounces in her seat, tail twirling in anticipation. Molly does his best to read her. He gets the impression that anything he says will delight her. He does employ a little sleight of hand to assure a good spread. To distract her he asks, “What would you like to know?”

“Oh, um…” Jester glances up at the ceiling and taps her chin while she thinks. This gives Molly the perfect opportunity to slip the right cards to the top of the deck. “I’d like to know…if I’m going to find my dad.”

The search for a lost loved one. Molly has done readings for many people in the same predicament. He makes one last adjustment with a flick of his wrist then deals three cards onto the table. Despite his preference for discretion, he can’t help but add some flair as he flips over each card. “The Silver Dragon. It means you are pure of heart, and noble in your quest. The Anvil. Your destiny is forged, strong and bright as a sword. And lastly, ah! Look at that. The Eye. Whether you know it or not, you have what you need to find what you seek.”

Jester claps her hands. “Wow! Thank you so much!” She grins at her two companions. “This guy is so smart! Look at him, he knows everything!”

Beau groans in disbelief. “What a load of bull.”

“But wait…” Molly turns over the deck to reveal the card at the bottom. “The Serpent. Oh, beware. This card can be positive, meaning there is something about yourself you must cast away like a snake sheds its skin, but when it appears on the bottom of the deck it is almost always a warning to keep an eye on those you thought you could trust.” He glares at Beau from the corner of his eye.

Jester gasps. “We actually fought a big snake thing last night!”

“Coincidence,” Beau says, returning Molly’s stink-eye. “Or he could be referring to himself.”

Before Molly can answer, the door to the tavern opens. Normally this wouldn’t be of any interest, except there’s a commotion that passes through the crowd immediately after. Several people crane their necks to get a look. Molly quickly puts his cards back in the deck and tucks them into their pouch. Holding his hood mostly closed over his face, he stands up just enough to see what has caused such a stir.

From out of the light of the doorway whirls the most dazzling man Molly has ever seen. His fiery red hair is pulled back in a ponytail and his somewhat more rusty-colored beard frames a broad smile. His blue eyes scan the room with a twinkle of mischief. He wears a floor-length coat with intricate designs of flames and stars and arcane glyphs sewn into it, as well as a vibrant sun across the back. He flits from table to table, moving so deftly in his well-polished knee-length boots it’s as though his feet barely have to touch the ground. Following close behind those boots is what appears to be a small goblin girl wearing a fine porcelain doll mask. She leaves pieces of paper on the tables when the man is finished talking to the people sitting at them. Molly notes that while the man talks, the goblin’s fingers find their way into pockets and pouches. No one else seems to see her. He’s not going to say anything. It would be hypocritical to call out another thief. Even so, he adjusts his own pouches to places he’ll notice if a short goblin arm starts to reach for them.

The man and his goblin friend make their way over to the two tables where the five of them are sitting. Jester goes back to her original seat and scoops all her money into a pocket of her dress. Molly pulls his hood tighter around his face so he can watch the man without showing too much.

“My goodness gracious,” says the man. His voice carries a soft lyrical Zemnian accent, sweet as honey and cheerful as birdsong. “I do not believe I have ever seen a collection of people more in need of a good time. Have you, Nott?”

The goblin shakes her head. “Never!”

The man makes a sweeping bow. At this proximity Molly sees there are about a dozen thin braids in his hair, each strung with bright beads. His ponytail is held in place by an assortment of cords also dripping with jewels and beads and charms that hang down the back of his neck. A pendant with the symbol of Pelor swings out from under his shirt when he reaches the deepest point of his bow. “Caleb Widogast, of the Fletching and Moondrop Carnival of Curiosities, at your service. And this is my assistant, Nott the Brave.”

Nott places a piece of paper on each table. Molly pulls the one on his close enough to read. Reading isn’t his strong suit. Letters never sat still in his mind. He can understand enough of the flyer to determine that it is an advertisement for this carnival.

“We saw your tent going up!” Jester exclaims.

“Yeah, we were actually gonna go without the flyer,” Beau says. “But now we also have a flyer.”

Caleb grins. “It is just five copper. A steal. At five _silver_ it would be a steal. For five gold, it would be worth every penny, but all we ask is five copper, if you have it to spend.” His attention turns to Molly. “And what about you my good…erm, fellow?” There’s a flash of color and a stirred breeze that smells like incense and evergreens, then Caleb is sitting in the chair Jester just vacated. “You are a shy one, aren’t you?”

Yasha leans forward across the table, a scowl in her brow. Molly holds up one hand to calm her. “I’m not one for carnivals,” he says, pushing the flyer back at Caleb.

Caleb tilts his head in a pout. “Surely you could do with a laugh? Some amazement? Wonder? _Fun_?” He lowers his head more to better look at Molly. There’s a familiar astonished pause when he first realizes what’s before him. Molly is used to it. What he’s not used to is a wide smile and a remark of, “Ooh, and you’re handsome, too.”

Molly clutches his hood shut. No one needs to see his face turning fuchsia under his coating of dirt.

“Ah, but as I said, shy,” Caleb folds his arms on the table to rest his head on them, seemingly unphased. “What is your name, _Hübscher_?”

“It’s…Mollymauk. Tealeaf.”

Caleb’s smile takes on a devilish air. “Well, Herr Mollymauk, I hope you will change your mind and come pay us a visit. I promise we don’t bite.”

“Uh, what’s this about ‘no admittance to the ill or elderly’?” Fjord asks.

Caleb lifts his head. “Erm, that is simply because some of the acts might be… _overwhelming_ for certain folk. It’s not your typical carnival, certainly not for the faint of heart.”

“People could _die_ from how exciting it is!” Nott declares with an enthusiastic nod.

“Do _you_ perform?” Jester asks Caleb.

“I…don’t have my own act, exactly, but I do perform, on occasion.”

Nott pipes up again, “He’s very talented! He can conjure lights and fire, and he can make a cat appear and disappear whenever he wants!”

“A _cat_?” Jester says. “I’d _love_ to see your cat! Can you make it appear right now?”

“Of course I can.” Caleb snaps his fingers. In an instant, a cat does indeed appear. Right in front of Molly. Molly jumps back in alarm. Caleb laughs. “He doesn’t bite either. This is Frumpkin, my familiar. Say ‘hello’, Frumpkin.”

The cat arcs its back in a stretch, flexing its paws out in front of it. It opens its jaws wide in a yawn. “Yyye _owrr_.”

Jester squeals in delight. “He’s so _cuuute!_ Can I pet him? Please please please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely.” Caleb snaps his fingers again. The cat vanishes. Molly turns his head enough to see that it is now curled in Jester’s lap. Jester strokes its fur while babbling adoration at it. Even Beau reaches over to pet it, eyes wide with awe. “He loves people,” Caleb says. “Very intelligent as well. The best familiar I could have asked for.”

Fjord nods, though he leans away from Frumpkin. “And you can conjure fire as well?”

Caleb holds up one hand. His wrist is laden with bracelets and bangles. The loose sleeve of his shirt falls away enough that Molly can see familiar pales patches in his skin, arranged in a somewhat haphazard pattern — though the longer Molly examines him the more he can see there _is_ a pattern — that continue up his arm and possibly to his shoulder. There are none on his neck or most of his chest, but there's a pale gap in the bit of visible chest hair that peeks over the neckline of his shirt. Molly knows a thing or two about scars. These tickle the back of his head in a way that unsettles him. He barely has time to think about that because suddenly Caleb’s hand is on fire. Caleb casually turns his hand this way and that, waving his fingers to make the fire dance. It’s oddly hypnotizing, beautiful even. Then he clenches his fist and the fire goes out.

Jester applauds harder than she did for her Tarot reading. “That was _amazing!_ ”

“Heh, that was nothing compared to what you will see at the carnival.” Caleb springs from the chair, gives them all another bow, and continues his circuit through the tavern. “See you tonight!” he says over his shoulder. He pointedly looks to Molly and winks.

Molly grabs his trost and chugs the whole thing, though it does little to soothe his dry throat or cool his burning face.


	2. Fighting as a Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly accepts his new acquaintances' help in defeating a fiendish threat.

The interior of the carnival tent smells like charred flesh. Both creatures lie on the ground, broken, battered, and burnt, covered in cuts and crossbow bolts. The crowd hasn’t even finished its panicked exodus. Molly whirls on Caleb and Nott, his tail lashing in fury. “ _Why_ in the world do you people have a _bloody nergaliid_ in your carnival?”

Caleb and Nott exchange confused looks. They’re both still on edge, sticking to each other for stability in this hectic situation. “A what?” Caleb asks.

“A nergaliid! Your so-called ‘devil toad’.”

Caleb chuckles nervously. “Come on, that’s just a name. He’s not an actual devil or…whatever you said. He’s just a…a lizardfolk with a skin condition trying to earn his living.”

Molly clenches his hands around his scimitars. “I know fiends. _That_ was a nergaliid. They usually live in eastern Xhorhas and I don’t know _how_ one wound up mixed in with all of this, but they are _dangerous_.” He gestures to the bodies that once were humans. “ _This_ is what happens when they get too hungry. The damn thing has probably been feeding off the lot of you this whole time and decided it wanted something more.”

Everyone stares at Caleb and Nott, then at the bodies on the ground. “You’re not going to turn into one of those, are you?” Jester asks.

“No,” Molly says, sheathing his swords. “The nergaliid will either drain its victims slowly and painlessly over long periods so it has a steady food source, or it will devour their essence and leave them like _that_. You two are probably fine, but I mean _come on_.”

“We didn’t know!” Caleb snaps. “This has never happened before! Gustav told us he was lizardfolk and that we could trust him. He—” Caleb toys with one of the cords on his ponytail. “Gods, did Gustav _know?_ ”

“Whether he did or didn’t, it doesn’t matter,” Molly says. “The damage is done. If you want to make sure it never happens again, we need to hunt that thing down and _end this_.”

At that moment, the one Crownsgaurd who had been outside struggling to get through the fleeing crowd makes it to where their group is gathered around the corpses. He shouts for everyone to stay where they are. Molly was so busy trying to figure this out and tell the carnies off for their poor judgement of character that he forgot to put his hood back up. He closes his eyes tight. There’s the childish notion in the back of his mind that if he doesn’t see anyone, no one will see him. He could _make_ them not see him, but that would cause all sorts of problems he doesn’t want to deal with.

The leader of the carnival rushes up from the crowd, followed by his half-orc assistant. They exchange words with Caleb and Nott, then talk to the Crownsguard. Molly assesses the damage to his clothes while the attention is off him. He only had to cut himself once, but one of the husks scratched him up and tore his coat. For the sake of staying discreet, he uses the single charge of Mending in the gloves to fix where he sliced open his forearm. To everyone else, it simply looks like he’s rubbing his arm nervously. The fabric closes over and the bloodstain fades. He’ll fix his coat tomorrow.

That is, if he still has all his things tomorrow. More Crownsguard arrive, and they seem intent on arresting somebody. Molly doesn’t want to go back to prison. Prison is a terrible place. Nothing gets done in prison except waiting, and Molly hates waiting. While their Watchmaster talks to the carnival people, a few Crownsguard give Molly suspecting looks. He’s used to that.

“Put down your weapons,” one of them orders him. They also point to Yasha. “And you!”

Molly unbuckles his sword belt and lowers it to the ground. Yasha does the same with her sword. Molly puts his hands up. “It was a fiend who did this,” he says.

The conversation the Watchmaster is having stops. “What did you say?” the head he asks.

“A fiend,” Molly repeats louder. “It’s called a nergaliid. They drain people and turn them into _that_.” He nods to the bodies. “I’m a demon hunter. I know these things.”

The Watchmaster narrows his eyes. “Oh, you’re a demon hunter are you? Turning on your own kind?”

“Hey!” Jester exclaims. “He was trying to save a lot of people! And so was I!” She turns to Molly. Her tone and expression change immediately from agitated to concerned. “Speaking of which, Molly, did you want me to heal you? That one guy hit you pretty hard.”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.” Molly folds his arms and tries to appear small. He never was very bulky. After a few years on the run he’s practically skin and bone. Still, best to come off as non-threatening. In his experience with the Crownsguard, they tend to want simple solutions to their problems, meaning they’ll blame it all on whoever in the vicinity looks the most dangerous.

Apparently that means all of them. The Watchmaster makes a swirling snappy gesture with one hand. “Round them up. Put them in irons. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Caleb puts up his hands. “Wait! Wait, listen to him. He knows what he is talking about. We—” he glances over his shoulder at his boss, “—none of us knew what he was. That… _creature_ had us all fooled. We didn’t know, I swear.”

“And where is this demon now?” the Watchmaster asks.

The carnival leader speaks up. “He— He took Toya and ran. I thought he was getting her to safety.”

Molly pinches the bridge of his nose. Some people are far too trusting. “I can track it,” he says. “Wherever it went, I’ll know.”

“Right,” the Watchmaster scoffs. “Demon hunter.”

“I am.” Molly changes tactics. He stands tall, chest puffed out, fists clenched. That works about as well as acting small, since he is, after all, just a gangly tiefling.

Caleb gets the Watchmaster’s attention again. “I trust him. Let him track the beast. You can put us all in irons until he finds it.”

“This man does not speak for everyone present,” Beau says loudly. “I would like to make that clear. We just met him earlier today. No affiliation whatsoever. You can arrest him all you like, the rest of us were just trying to keep the situation under control.”

The Watchmaster glowers at Caleb. Caleb blinks at him with pleading eyes. Molly silently wills the Watchmaster to listen. Caleb might not be trustworthy, but how could anyone say no to that face?

“Fine. You have _one hour_ to track this ‘fiend’ of yours. Flynn will go with you.”

“To be fair,” Molly says. “This isn’t the sort of thing I could handle alone. Let me bring the rest of them with me. They were useful in taking down the husks— er, the…the people who turned, and I think together we could defeat the nergaliid.”

“How dumb do you think I am?” the Watchmaster asks. “You think I’ll let all of you roam free to chase after an imaginary fiend?”

“It is _not_ imaginary!” Caleb cries. “Sir, I can assure you that the creature is real. Ask anyone who attended the show tonight!”

The Crownsguard who was stationed here and arrived first nods. “It’s true. I saw… _something._ They called it a ‘devil toad’.”

“Well what is it?” the Watchmaster demands. “A devil toad or a…a…”

“Nergaliid,” Molly says. “Give me an hour and these people to back me up, and we’ll bring you its head. If it kills us, you don’t have to bother arresting us, but then you’ll need to find someone more skilled to take it down, and good luck finding them. Or I could be lying and— And nothing. Because I’m telling the truth.” Molly swallows. His knees are shaking, but he keeps his voice firm. “So, what’ll it be?”

* * * *

The Crownsguard are fucking useless. Molly has known this since his first encounter with them, but _honestly_ , what sort of training do they give these morons? They can’t even deal with _imps_ for fuck’s sakes. Fortunately this strange band of fighters Molly has somehow found himself in proves far more capable. It’s Fjord who lands the killing blow on the fiend. The dark powers he uses make Molly uneasy, but he gets the job done and doesn’t seem evil…so far. Unfortunately, he also gets knocked out by an imp, which means by the time the battle is over, they have seven unconscious people to deal with, including four Crownsguard and the poor little girl the nergaliid kidnapped.

Another one of those people happens to be Caleb. Molly disposed of the imp that attacked him, but not in time to prevent him from taking too much damage. He’s barely on his feet as well. However, Jester is drained of healing spells and can only stabilize them all. The rest of them make camp on the little island to sleep off some of their injuries.

Eventually more Crownsguard arrive in boats to fetch them. Molly had warned them that if their group hadn’t returned in a few hours, there was a chance they were all dead. The Crownsguard are relieved that the fiend has already been defeated, though they are distressed by their unconscious comrades. Enough time has passed that all of them can wake up, but they’re in bad shape. Caleb uses what remains of his strength to hold the little girl and comfort her. Molly didn’t expect such tenderness from someone like him, but the world is full of surprises.

Toya cries into Caleb’s colorful shoulder. In sad yet soothing tones Caleb tells her, “Kylre tried to be good for a long time, but he was a bad thing and he couldn’t hide it anymore. He was going to hurt more people, so…so he had to be stopped. I’m so sorry, _Spatzchen_. He did his best, and we should remember that.”

Caleb’s words hit a little too close to home for Molly. Familiar guilt wells in Molly’s chest, a screaming pit of bad memories that swallows what little pride he took in being right about the nergaliid. He should have been smarter. True, he didn’t expect the damn thing to summon back-up, but he should have let them all rest after the attack in the tent. The need to hunt had been too strong. Try as he may to control his impulses, Molly had been so eager to kill this fiend that he hadn’t thought straight. Another batch of mistakes to add to his ever-growing list.

The Crownsguard regard him with more respect, though, so that’s something. They gather around the corpse like curious rats. A few “brave” souls step forward to jab at it with their swords. “And you really killed this thing?” one of them asks Molly, wide-eyed with awe.

“He did,” Molly says, pointing to where Fjord is propped on a rock while Jester tends to his wounds. It’s not that Molly is bitter about it. A dead fiend is the best kind of fiend, regardless of who made it that way. And he got to kill an imp, which is still something. But if only _he_ had been the one to kill the nergaliid…

“Is he a demon hunter too?” the Crownsguard asks.

Molly lets out a hollow laugh. “No. He isn’t. He’s good with a sword, though.” Among other things, like conjuring dark energy. Molly is quite familiar with warlock powers. Not this particular kind, no, but there’s no mistaking the sort of magic that only comes from a less-than-scrupulous pact. The Order would have been very interested in him.

That sting in his soul causes Molly to involuntarily check on Caleb and the little girl. Caleb hasn’t let go of her, and she seems comfortable resting against his chest. The bright colors of Caleb’s coat stand out like a stain on the murky ground. Even with Darkvision it’s glaring. Molly had figured that the person wearing it was the same way, flashy and loud and obnoxiously ostentatious, yet the human has heart, clearly. He fought valiantly. Sadly, that coat is useless as armor, and Caleb doesn’t have much in the form of combat magic. He’s a performer, after all. The fact that he was of any use in either of today’s battles is frankly quite impressive.

Come to think of it, finding so many people with extraordinary talents in one place is remarkable, especially since they seem to have stumbled into each other by accident. Not accident, fate. Molly isn’t a fan of the word, but there’s no denying its influence. As much as Molly would like to have the strength of numbers on his side as he continues his pursuits, this can only be a one-time thing. The others will draw too much attention, ask too many questions. _Fate_ brought them together so they could defeat this evil. From here on out, Yasha is all the company Molly needs.

* * * *

A few days later, Molly rides north in the back of a wagon that used to belong to the circus, along with a cheery blue tiefling, a surly monk, a baffling warlock, a sticky-fingered goblin, a loyal barbarian, and a colorful charismatic wizard.


	3. The First Time in a Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Caleb stay up for watch. They learn a few things about each other and Caleb offers Molly something he has been missing.

They leave Alfield with considerably heavier pockets. A jarful of gnoll ears and a small group of recovered citizens earned them a hefty bounty. However, it’s the mysterious man they met in the mines that is the topic of discussion as they continue on to Zadash.

“He was so _cool!_ ” Jester exclaims.

“Yeah,” Beau says with equal enthusiasm. “And like, when he called me ‘baby’, I didn’t feel like, demeaned, y’know? It actually felt like a compliment and…fuck yeah, that guy was cool.”

“I do wonder where he went off to on his own,” Fjord remarks from the driving seat of their wagon. “I mean, he seems like a more than capable fella, but…wasn’t he _blind?_ ”

“He has the Grand Duchess, like I have Frumpkin,” Caleb says. He scritches his familiar behind the ears as Frumpkin rests around his neck. “She seemed to be his eyes.”

“I sort of feel bad that I stole money from him…” Nott says, her ears drooping in genuine guilt.

“What was your impression, Molly?” Fjord asks.

Molly doesn’t want to answer. Shakäste made him uneasy. Blind or not, he could see things none of the others could. Molly was both curious yet terrified of what Shakäste might have seen in him. “Not bad for someone his age.”

Jester squeals. “I _know!_ He was _really friggin’_ _handsome!_ ”

“I meant— Okay, sure.” Molly slumps further against the wagon wall. He misses Yasha. He still isn’t used to the fact that she disappears like this sometimes. She always finds him, which is a comfort as well as a concern, but they’re traveling so far. They left word that they were heading to Zadash so she could follow them. Hopefully she’ll catch up. Molly doesn’t want to strike out from the group without her, and these people can be overwhelming sometimes. They’re friendly though, especially that Caleb. He’s a bit _too_ friendly. Doesn’t have a real concept of personal space, though his incessant flirting has gotten them some discounts and loosened a few people’s tongues.

They make camp for the night. Jester and Fjord take first watch, followed by Molly and Caleb then Nott and Beau. Molly sleeps with one hand around the hilt of a scimitar, as always, just in case. The road is apparently clear, since there’s no interruption to his usual nightmares until Jester wakes him for his shift.

Since Molly has Darkvision, he’s the one to wander a little ways off the road to gather sticks and dry grass for the fire. When he comes back, Caleb is toying with the flames. He’s getting better with his magic. A little combat experience has brought him such a long way. He takes one of Molly’s sticks and stares at it for a while, muttering to himself. After several minutes it turns to pure silver. Caleb’s smile gleams in the firelight.

“I think did that faster than usual,” he says.

Molly takes it from him and uses it to stoke the fire. “Too bad there’s no one here to sell it to. Maybe they’d even make it far enough away before it turns back to wood that they wouldn’t bother turning around and demanding their money back.”

Caleb clicks his tongue. “I only do that in times of desperation, and we are _far_ from desperate now. It’s…fun though, _ja_?” He nods to the stick. “You can’t tell me you know many people who can do that.”

“No, I don’t, but you know how I feel about cheating people out of their money.”

“Ugh, even in _desperate_ times I don’t prey on the unfortunate, _you_ know _that_.” Caleb twirls a regular stick between his fingers. “You’re so judgy, _Hübscher_.”

Molly snorts. “I may not have met many people who can turn wood to silver, but I have met _plenty_ of people who don’t care who their tricks hurt so long as they can profit from them.” In truth, he hadn’t met more than a handful of those, since back home they made it clear con artists were not welcome. His aunt’s family was full of them, and they were banned from the city unless they swore to behave themselves. At least when Molly conned people he tried to be fair about it, simple card games that they could cheat at just as well as he can, not manipulating them through magical means.

Caleb tosses the stick into the fire. “I don’t like hurting people,” he says. “Not unless they deserve it.”

“And who decides who deserves what?”

Caleb shrugs. “You see a man, wearing more gold on his fingers than some farmers earn in a year, refusing to give a starving child so much as a copper piece. Would you not try to relieve him of a morsel of wealth? Knowing he wouldn’t even miss it if he thought he got something in return? Or say you come across a Crownsguard abusing their position, and one little lie would set them straight. Would you hold your tongue in favor of honesty?” He smirks. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you shuffle your cards, Tarot or otherwise. For better or worse, you’ve decided what the person you’re dealing for deserves.”

Molly hates that Caleb is right. At least, he’s right enough that Molly can’t come up with a good counterargument off the top of his head. He prods the fire with Caleb’s silver stick, moving the blackened crumbling logs out of the way and adjusting the fresher logs into a position where they can burn better.

“I take it you’ve had a hard life on the road,” Caleb says. “Harder than mine, certainly. I mean, I’ve had to fight off my fair share of scoundrels and bandits, but you…” He looks over at Molly. “You act like life has beaten the shit out of you on more than one occasion. You’re very…ah, how to say it… You’ve clearly run out of fucks to give. You and Beauregard both. Perhaps that’s why you can’t stand each other?”

“…We should be keeping an eye out, not arguing.”

“Who’s arguing? And anyway I have Frumpkin patrolling the area. He’ll tell me if there’s anything out there.”

Molly folds his arms. “Then why didn’t we just have him take this shift while the two of us got some sleep?”

Caleb mirrors Molly’s position, though with somewhat hunched shoulders. “Well, he can’t see _everything_.”

“Exactly, so let’s be quiet for a while so no one tries to sneak up on us, alright?”

And so they sit for an hour or two in silence. The silver stick turns back to regular wood and Molly lays it on the fire. Caleb draws sigils in the dust with one finger. Frumpkin doesn’t return nor does anyone or anything approach their little camp. It’s boring. Worse, since Molly doesn’t want to be the one to talk first, he’s forced to introspect.

Yes, he was harsh on Caleb. He doesn’t _want_ to like this loud-mouthed wizard, but despite all of Caleb’s bravado and cocksureness, he’s not the worst person Molly has ever met. He might even be less awful than over half the people Molly has ever met. He’s not as level-headed as Fjord or as practical as Beau, and he and Jester seem to have the same amount of tact — which is to say, not much at all — but he has his moments. And he made a good point. In terms of larger scale deciding who deserves what, that is up to the gods, but for little everyday decisions like who deserves to hear an uplifting white lie or who deserves to have their bulging purses lightened, people will make those whether they have a right to or not. At least sometimes it’s obvious.

“Caleb?”

Caleb glances up from where he has sprawled out on his side by the fire. “ _Ja_?”

Molly wrinkles his nose and exhales a sigh through it. “I’m sorry. You were right.”

“Was I?” Caleb smiles and props his head on one hand. “Do tell.”

“You just were, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” Caleb pauses for a moment. “Are you were right, too. There are some dreadful people in the world, and it’s hard to know who’s who on first glance. Two people may play the same trick, though one does it to feed their family and the other does it just to be a shitty person. Airing on the side of caution keeps you out of trouble longer.” He cocks an eyebrow. “It can also lose you valuable allies if you insist on chasing everyone away.”

Molly scoffs in mild amusement. “Are you referring to yourself?”

Caleb gestures to where the others are sleeping. “Anyone. They don’t even need to be allies, they can just be your _friends_. When was the last time you made a friend?”

“…Yasha.”

“Ah. And where is she?”

Molly shuffles in his seat. “She’ll be back. She does this sometimes.”

“In the meantime you’re all alone, even when there are other people around you.” Caleb shakes his head. “That’s no way to live, _Hübscher._ ”

Molly frowns. He wants to change the subject. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What? _Hübscher_?”

“Yeah. What does it mean?”

Caleb grins sheepishly and toys with one of the cords on his ponytail. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“If it’s really nothing, then it won’t matter if you tell me. Or is it actually some kind of Zemnian insult?”

“It’s not. It—” Caleb twirls the cord around one finger and casts his eyes to the ground. “Erm, the best way to translate it I suppose is ‘handsome’. Or ‘pretty boy’.”

Molly’s face goes hot and his heart sinks. “Oh. So it’s a joke.”

“ _Was?_ _Nein!_ _Nei_ — I mean, no, Molly. It isn’t. You really are quite beautiful.”

That takes Molly aback. It _must_ be a joke, more of Caleb’s hollow flirting. “But I’m—" Molly gestures to his skin, his eyes, his horns. “Unsettling.”

Caleb chuckles. “I don’t think so. Then again, I have been with the circus for as long as I can remember. With _Kylre_. If he didn’t bother me, there’s no way you ever could. Also I can change my appearance at will. I know people aren’t always what they seem at first glance.” He smiles. “Most people underestimate me because, oh, he’s just a human, what’s the worst he could do? It’s quite interesting to see the different reactions I get when I look like someone else.” The smile curls up into a grin. “For example, if I were a tiefling...”

Caleb’s form shifts. Where he was just lying is a female tiefling, skin as red as Caleb’s hair though her hair is obsidian black. Her rust-colored horns curve around her head then jut outwards. She smiles at Molly and bats the lashes of her golden eyes. Her voluptuous chest is barely contained in an emerald green corset. Molly reflexively averts his gaze out of modesty.

“Not your type?” she asks in Caleb’s voice. “Then what about...”

This time the change is not so drastic. The coloring stays the same, though now Caleb has taken the guise of a male tiefling, with horns that have a single corkscrew curl in them as they sweep up and back over his ears. He’s wearing an open vest that shows off the lean toned muscles of his torso and tight leggings that show off something else. He reaches out to trace one slender finger up the side of Molly’s ankle. Molly hastily withdraws away from him and pulls his hood up over his head so Caleb won’t see him blush. How in the Hells can this man go from trying to give moral advice to _this_ so damn quickly? Has he no sense of tact? Decorum? _Personal space?_

“…Oh. _Oh_.” Caleb sounds mortified. “I am _so_ sorry. Are you one of those people who doesn't get those sorts of feelings? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just—”

“No, it’s not that,” Molly interrupts. He keeps his hood shut and takes deep breaths. “They were both very nice, but…b-but no one has touched me in a very _very_ long time and I’m not used to it.”

The frown is audible in Caleb’s voice. “Not at all?”

“Not really. Of course, Jester has to touch me to heal me, but no one has touched me like _that_.” Molly runs his forefinger over the seam of the opposite glove. “I don’t even remember the last time I felt skin against my own.”

Caleb taps one hand on his hip pensively. “ _Donnerwetter_ , I knew you were— But— How long of a time would you guess it has been?”

Molly chuckles. “Let’s put it this way: the number of full moons I’ve seen since the last time someone touched my skin is greater than my age.”

“ _Years?!_ Oh, _arme Hübscher_. That’s awful.”

“Yes, well, in order to _touch_ my skin, people generally have to _see_ it, and in case you haven’t noticed, I try to keep myself well-covered. Furthermore, if they’re trying to touch skin they can’t see, it generally means they don’t have good intentions.”

Caleb crawls forward so he can look up into Molly’s hidden face. He has dropped his disguise, so the eyes that come into view are his usual summer-sky blue. “I have already seen it,” he points out. “And you know I _only_ have good intentions. Would it be alright if I…” He nibbles his lower lip. “It’s fine if you don’t want to, but honestly I’m worried about you. Now more than ever. Touch is so… _vital_. It’s a wonder you haven’t gone crazy.”

Molly smiles weakly. There’s no guarantee he hasn’t. He’s ready to politely decline the offer. After all, he has managed this long without it. He has gone this long without a lot of things. Allies, friends, touch, and it’s not like he _needs_ any of those. They’re good to have, but he doesn’t _crave_ it.

But then he realizes how much he _has_ been craving it. Especially since he met Caleb. One little touch can’t hurt…

“Okay,” Molly says. He scoots off the log to sit beside Caleb. He’s not comfortable taking off his gloves, so he pulls his hood back enough to show his face instead.

Caleb pushes himself up onto his knees. Slowly, cautiously, he reaches out his hand to cup Molly’s cheek. His skin is cold in comparison to Molly’s tiefling blood, and yet the moment Caleb’s fingers touched his face it was as though he had summoned a fire in Molly’s stomach. The sensation hits him like a thunderclap and tingles like the buzz after a second mug of ale. What’s even more overwhelming is the tenderness of Caleb’s touch. His thumb lightly strokes Molly’s cheekbone. His other fingertips brush delicately over Molly’s ear, as though he’s one of the books Caleb values so much. No one has treated Molly this gently since…well, frankly, since the last time he saw his mother. Caleb smiles at Molly as if to say, “There, that’s not so bad, is it?”

It’s not, and that’s why it’s terrible. Molly steels himself. He can get past this. This is nice, but it’s not like he’ll die without it. He’s made it this far without needing anyone. He can— He—

Tears burn their way out of his eyes. His jaw trembles. His breath catches in his throat and he can only force it out as a sob.

“Oh, _Hübscher_ , don’t cry.” Caleb’s voice is so soft, so caring. “It’s going to be alright.”

_“It’s going to be alright, darling. Don’t cry. My brother and I were teased when we were your age because we were different from everyone else, too. I know what they say is hurtful, but you have done nothing wrong. Come on, let’s go speak to your father.”_

Molly holds Caleb’s hand to his face as he dissolves into tears. He missed this. He missed this so much and he didn’t even know. All of that had been drowned in the paranoia and desperation of the past few years. It all comes back to him. His mother loved him fiercely, but if she knew what he had become she would be horrified, disgusted, ashamed. And his father…

Well, like father like son.

Caleb leans in close. Molly is too distracted by his thoughts to react with his usual retreat. He is paralyzed by his own despair. Then something cuts through that, sows sunbeams amid the roiling clouds of his mind. Caleb presses a kiss at the base of both of Molly’s horns. Molly covers his mouth to stifle his wails as he cries harder. He doesn’t want to wake the others and gain an audience for his emotional breakdown.

“ _Liebchen, es tut mir sehr leid._ ” Caleb puts his other hand on Molly’s back and applies just enough pressure to be considered a pull in his direction. Molly gives in with no hesitation. Caleb holds him to his chest.

This is all too much. The instincts Molly has developed during his exile are screaming at him to run, get away, free himself from the restraint by any means necessary. Caleb is a liar, a trickster, this isn’t safe. However, deeper and stronger than the anxiety are the needs Molly has repressed in the pursuit of self-preservation. It’s like waking up from a nightmare to a perfect morning. There’s residual fear and panic, but this feels so _right_ , so _comforting_. How _did_ he survive all this time without affection in his life?

“I tried to tell you,” Caleb murmurs. “Isolating yourself for that long will drive you mad.”

Molly already admitted Caleb was right once tonight. He’s not about to do it again. And yet he has to admit he was wrong about Caleb, as far as some things go. He is a kind and caring person, not as selfish as Molly tells himself he is to justify keeping him at a distance. There’s no distance between them now. He is literally weeping in Caleb’s arms. He’s as vulnerable as he has ever been. Caleb understands that. It’s clear in the way he lets Molly cry, no snide remarks or revulsion, just light pats on his back and patient silence.

Time passes. How long, Molly can’t say. He’s reevaluating the past six years of his life, and it’s full of more mistakes than he originally thought. The realization is depressing and he clutches Caleb for comfort. His hands are shaking, one still over his mouth and the other holding a fistful of Caleb’s shirt under the warmth of his coat. There’s a lingering tug in his mind that tells him this is wrong, dangerous, that he can’t trust anyone, especially not Caleb. It’s too late for that now. The damage is done. Might as well take advantage of this private moment and fill up on physical contact so he won’t need any more for a while. That’s probably not how it works, but this has to be a one-time thing.

“Mollymauk?”

Molly sniffles. “Hm?” This is it. This is the moment Caleb has had enough of him. Molly tries to move, give Caleb space, but Caleb’s arms are still around him.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know that, right?”

Oh, but he does. He has many many things. It’s his fault he’s like this, his fault that he ran away, that he keeps running away. If Caleb knew the depths of Molly’s shame, he wouldn’t treat him this way. Molly almost tells him, not everything but enough to let him know, but he’s selfish. This has to be a one-time thing, yet he can’t bring himself to ensure that it is. He’s not ready for Caleb to see him for the wretch he really is. He doesn’t want to lose this…whatever this is.

Caleb kisses the top of Molly’s head. It feels strange. It feels wonderful. Molly wishes he wouldn’t do that. Molly wishes he would do that again. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Molly’s hands won’t stop shaking.

Frumpkin appears at the edge of the firelight. The befuddling clouds of emotion part for a jolt of something Molly understands perfectly: fear.

“Is there someone coming?” Molly asks. He reaches for his swords.

“No, _Hübscher_ , it’s okay. I called him back.” Caleb beckons Frumpkin over. He strokes Molly’s hair one last time, then gets up and takes a seat on the opposite side of the fire. Frumpkin kneads its front paws on Molly’s leg and purrs. “He’s yours for the rest of the watch. It would be hard for us to pay attention, all curled up together like that. You need more, though. Have to make up for what you haven’t had all these years.” Caleb tilts his chin up and indicates a certain spot. “He likes it when tickle him there, just like this.”

In Molly’s experience, many creatures enjoy the same thing. Frumpkin’s purrs vibrate down Molly’s finger. Even through his gloves Molly can tell how soft Frumpkin is. As though sensing Molly’s curiosity, or perhaps silently commanded by Caleb, Frumpkin stands on its hind legs to nuzzle its head against Molly’s chin. Its fur is _very_ soft and through this direct contact Molly can _definitely_ feel the fey energy coming off this creature. It’s subtle, but Molly was trained to know the difference between fey and fiend and undead.

As much as Molly would like to politely set the entity disguised as a cat on the ground and insist that he’ll be fine on his own, the way he has been for years, the raw broken nerves of his soul yearn for some form of comfort. It can’t be from Caleb. It _shouldn’t_ be. Maybe if Yasha were here Molly would allow her to pat him on the shoulder the way she does after combat sometimes. But that’s not the same. This experience has made that abundantly clear. It simply is not the same and Molly wants to cry again because he can’t think of any other circumstance when he would let someone touch him like that in the future. Maybe after all his sins are paid for, if that ever happens, he will allow himself more intimate companionship, but for now he has to focus.

The rest of their watch is as uneventful as before. Molly gets used to having Frumpkin curled up in his lap. The warm purring bundle is a balm on his weary mind. When it’s time to wake Beau and Nott, Caleb offers to let the cat spend the night with Molly. This time Molly has to refuse, as he will have to refuse every time after that. He goes back to his bedroll alone, falls asleep alone, and dreams of the family he left behind.


	4. Bandits and Vagrants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Zadash continues and concludes. Though Molly has yet to find what he's looking for, he's starting to realize that he has found something he needed.

Molly doesn’t speak to Caleb the next day. Caleb doesn’t question it or complain. He allows Molly to have his space, which is frustrating. Molly hoped Caleb would try to rekindle the brief connection they had on watch, whine when Molly continued to ignore him, do _something_ obnoxious so Molly could go back to not liking him. Instead he’s as understanding and accommodating as he was last night, that bastard.

The rest of their journey to Zadash is mostly uneventful. Molly never takes another watch with Caleb. Fjord is the best to stay up with because he doesn’t ask many questions. At least, when Molly makes it clear he won’t answer any, Fjord stops asking questions. Beau still doesn’t trust him, Jester still tries to get him to open up to her, and Nott is…Nott, so she mostly sticks to Caleb’s side and therefore Molly doesn’t talk to her much. He misses Yasha.

One night they get attacked by bandits, but they are some of the most incompetent bandits Molly has even seen. The group of them manage to sneak up and catch them off guard, but in the scuffle that ensues they prove their unpreparedness in facing off against stronger foes. Molly, who, as always, slept with one hand around the hilt of a sword, immediately draws it across his neck and commands his blood to set the blade alight. The sudden illumination throws the bandits off guard, as does the sight of Molly’s uncovered face.

Molly does not attack to kill, nor do any of them, but he does get his scimitar to the leader’s throat without much hassle. A few crossbow bolts in his back and side, but he has dealt with far worse. “If you value your lives you’ll gather your things and get as far away from here as possible,” he snarls.

Caleb puts one hand up. “Furthermore we are all _terribly_ afflicted with syphilis. You might have caught it simply by _breathing_ near us. If you took any of our belongings with you then you would _certainly_ get it.”

Everyone gives Caleb strange looks, though the bandits seem more horrified. Molly has no idea why the wizard’s mind went that direction but if it works, it works. The one who had been fighting Beau suddenly flails in an attempt to strip away the clothing she had touched.

“Well then,” the leader says, his eyes darting back and forth from Caleb to Molly’s blade. “I…I suppose we’ll be on our way, if that’s alright with you. Um, n-no harm no foul, eh?”

Molly yanks out one of the crossbow bolts that’s sticking out of him. His other hand is still holding up his scimitar. He pulls his lips back in his most disturbing fang-exposing grin, tilts his head slightly, and says, “Mistakes were made. Mistakes have consequences.” That truly puts the fear in the bandit leader’s eyes. Molly growls in Infernal, “A҉t̡t̕a͏c̶̡͠k̷ ̛u͢҉s̶̨͠ ͟҉a͢g̴͞a̵͘i̛n̴ ͝a̶̧n̕d̸ ̷̡͡y̨̡ou̸̵̡r͘͞͠ ̶̶̡l̕if͏̢e͜ ͘i̡s͟ ͟͠f͜҉o͝r͞f͝e͞į̡͡t͘͢͠.”

The leader _whimpers_ behind his mask. As if Molly needed further reason to pity these incompetent wretches.

“Oh, for gods’ sakes, just _go_ ,” Molly says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve put a curse on you so misfortune will come to you if you try to rob us again. Leave while you’ve still got all your limbs.”

With that, the bandits all scramble to flee. Molly sheaths his scimitar and rubs his temples. He had been having such a restful sleep, too, which is hard to come by on these roads.

Jester frowns at Molly. “‘Y̵̕͜o̸͞u̧r ̷̴͝li̛f̵ȩ͡ ̷͡͡i̴͜͠s̨ ͏̶̴f̵̶o̸̕r̶̡f̛͟e̷̕͜i̡t̴’?” she asks, repeating his Infernal before switching back to Common. “That was pretty mean, Molly. They had already given up.”

“It wasn’t a _real_ curse,” Molly says. “Just a little insurance that they would fuck off for good. Not like they understood it anyway.”

“Yeah, and you could have used that to fuck with them! Like, you could have said, ‘You’ve got a big booger in your nose’, or ‘Oh my gods puppies are so cute’. You were _scary_.”

Molly snorts. “I’m always scary. And it got them to leave, didn’t it?” With that, he flips his hood up to cover his face. “I’m going back to sleep until it’s my turn for watch.”

* * * *

Zadash stands like a series of glistening chitinous spines jutting from an otherwise ordinary farmland. It must look more impressive in the sunlight, but today a light downpour merely sets it against an iron grey sky. A wall surrounding the city keeps the common riffraff from freely mingling with the inhabitants. Molly learned about the major cities of Wildemount once, but he was never a good study. All he can remember is that it used to be a capital city in its own right until it was conquered. He supposes the wall is also there to prevent it from being taken by someone else.

After somehow acquiring a tour guide before setting foot inside the gates they get a general introduction to the city. Molly doesn’t trust their guide, but Caleb seems amused by the presentation of pomp from the scruffy man. Jester likes him too, so Molly holds back from using his Devil’s Tongue to force him into behaving.

One bit of useful information he provides is the location of a shop that deals in magical items. Molly does not speak up, but he listens as Caleb and Jester ask further questions. Purveyors of magic are rare, at least from what Molly has seen. Back home there were several places he could have gone in search of the sort of enchantments he’s looking for, but home is a long way off and he’s far _far_ lighter in the purse than he was back then. Still, there’s a bit of hope he’ll find something here.

They eventually find their way to the Invulnerable Vagrant. The reason behind the name becomes apparent when they notice that the rain doesn’t appear to touch the verdant velvet drapery that decorates the exterior. The light in the windows suggests warmth and safety from the rain. Fjord and Beau decide to take their cart in search of hot drinks and a place to stay, while Jester brings the loot they took from the manticore’s mines and Caleb and Nott chatter about what kinds of magical supplies he’ll be able to get. Molly follows them in quietly, hood pulled around his face to prevent the rain from smearing his dirt while allowing him to observe his surroundings.

The interior of the shop is even more impressive than the outside, but what really catches Molly’s attention is the three shopkeepers. At least, it appears there are three, but as he darts his eyes from one to the other to the other, Molly can’t discern any difference between them. They are all incredibly tall, seven-foot to the top of the head, but they’re all hunched somewhat over their work. They’re dressed in identical robes of green and gold. Their skin is covered in a fine greyish-brown fur, their noses are broad, and they each have the same elongated ears protruding from under short curly brown hair, all with the same nick on the left ear.

Caleb immediately goes to a display of open tomes, Nott at his heels peering up to inspect them as well. Jester stares in awe at the floating glass bulbs that carry candles above their heads. Molly, however, wants to conduct his business and go, so he steps up to the counter and clears his throat.

The closest of the trio looks to him with a wide smile. “Yes? I’m happy to help you.”

“Um, hello,” Molly says to this imposing shopkeeper, having to tilt his head a little. The shopkeep, who Molly guesses is a firbolg from what he has heard about the forest-dwelling people, doesn’t seem bothered by his eyes, but then again firbolg are probably as common as tieflings in a place like this and of course his novelty wouldn’t be that impressive. “I was wondering if you had any items to, uh…to—”

The shopkeeper puts up one massive hand. “Before we can get to that, I just have to say you’re — respectfully — _terribly_ filthy, and this is an establishment that I have to insist requires some more cleanliness…” He waves his hand in a sort of shooing motion.

Molly feels the itch of magic on his clothes, moving its way up. He looks down in horror. All the dirt and filth is flecking off him and disappearing. The spell is at his knees, his waist, his chest. He pulls his hood shut but it’s no use. The prickle on his skin tells him that every last speck of dirt has been magically removed. Panic sets his heart racing. He can’t let anyone see.

“Now, what were you asking?” The shopkeeper seems oblivious to the trouble he has just caused.

“Nothing,” Molly says hastily. “Never mind. I’ll just— I’ll just go…” He turns and blindly staggers towards the door. Someone gently catches him by the arm. Molly yanks himself free.

“It’s just me,” Caleb says. “ _Hübscher_ , are you alright?”

“Yes, fine. Let me go. I can’t— I have to— to—” Molly bows his head and covers his face with his hands. His tail coils tighter around his waist. Deep breaths, then the floor will hold still. Deep breaths to make the world stop pitching like a ship in a storm. Deep breaths to hold the fear back. In…out. In…out. In…fuck.

Something touches the top of his head. A soft pat. Caleb. “It’s going to be okay, whatever it is. Did he hurt you?” Caleb directs his voice to the counter. “Did you hurt him?” he demands.

“No! Goodness, no. I mean, uh, it’s uh, it’s just a simple prestidigitation. Shouldn’t have felt a thing. I am _terribly_ sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to offend or upset a customer. Please, how can I help you?”

Molly nearly snaps that he could have left bloody well enough alone. He doesn’t want to cause more of a scene. Strange behavior can be as telltale as any other trait. He swallows his anxiety, but his chest is too tight to speak.

“Molly?” Caleb asks. “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Molly croaks. This may be the only place in five hundred miles that will have what he’s looking for. He whispers to Caleb, “You all go first.”

“Are you sure?”

Molly nods.

“Oh. Well, alright then.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Nott asks.

Caleb shushes her, then goes to conduct his business. Two sets of footsteps move towards the counter. One takes Caleb’s place at Molly’s side, accompanied by the _thunk_ of the glaive shaft.

“Molly?” It’s Jester. “Is something wrong with your face?”

Jester is a tiefling, so she might understand a little of what Molly is feeling. Then again, there’s no way any of them could understand what he’s feeling. He peeks out of his hood enough to find a corner of the room then pulls her over to it. “How bad is it?” he asks, parting the fabric in such a way that reveals his face to her without showing the rest of the room.

Jester’s eyes go wide. “Molly, your skin is so _pretty!_ I’ve never seen anyone that color before!”

“ _Shh!_ ” Molly winces and takes another deep breath. “The whole reason I stay dirty all the time is so no one will know what color I am. You can really see…everything? There’s no dirt left?”

“Nope.” Jester frowns. “Molly, are people looking for you?”

Molly bites his lip.

“What kind of people?”

“I don’t… It’s not so much that they’re _looking_ for me, but if I _met_ any of them they would know me right away. And if they _are_ looking for me, all they have to do is ask ‘Did you see a lavender tiefling come through here?’ and the answer most definitely will not be ‘Which one?’”

“I can make myself look like you,” Jester says. “Not _exactly_ like you, but the same color. That might confuse…whoever it is.”

Molly tries to smile but it comes off as a grimace. “That is very sweet of you, but please don’t. I really don’t want to draw attention to myself. I just wanted to come in, see if they had the kind of item I wanted, buy it, then leave.” He listens to the others talking. It’s very strange because two of the shopkeepers are helping Caleb at once, so the same voice is coming from two locations and it confuses him. “Can you help me look?”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Well, it can’t cost more than two hundred gold, and…um…it has to…to make your mind stronger. I mean, it— it—” Molly doesn’t know how to describe the effect he wants without raising some odd questions. Jester tends to pry when her curiosity is peaked. From the wrinkle in her forehead and the pout in her lower lip he knows it already is. “It has to stop things from influencing your thoughts.”

“…Like getting charmed?”

Molly nods. “Yeah. That.” He spins a frantic excuse from threads of truth that are safer to reveal. “I— My— I’ve fought… _things_ that do that, and it…it’s not something I want to happen again. If we’re going to be fighting weird things together, I’d p-prefer if I had extra protection.”

Jester nods. “Maybe we should all get something like that. Although, technically it would be nice if we all had magic things that protect us from _everything_ , but we don’t have that kind of money. If you’re scared about it though, you should definitely have something that makes you feel better. Let’s have a look around.”

“Thank you.” Nosy though she may be, Jester is always happy to help. Molly appreciates that about her. He stays hunched with his hood held tight over his face and she leads him around the shop.

There are plenty of protective items, but they’re more for physical protection than mental. There’s a cloak, some bracers, a few rings, odds and ends with elegant designs his father would probably appreciate, but nothing that does what he wants. It’s all too expensive anyway. The only thing he could afford is something called the “Periapt of Wound Closure”, and his wounds do a good job of closing themselves. Still, it could be helpful, but maybe, _maybe_ he’ll get lucky elsewhere and need his money then.

When Caleb is finished buying his paper and ink — at least this shop has _those_ — he switches with Jester so she can sell the glaive. “Are you sure you’re alright, _Hübscher_?”

Molly shakes his head, hood still tight enough that he can only see what’s directly in front of him. He can guess the expression on Caleb’s face, the shallow crease in his brow emphasizing the concern in his voice. “I don’t think they have what I’m looking for. It’s so hard to find a good enchanter, too. I was really hoping… But it doesn’t matter.” Molly takes one last glance at the periapt and sighs.

Caleb shuffles beside him, that absurd lurid coat of his rustling softly, the sound muted by the dampness of the fabric. “Would it be alright if I put my hand on your shoulder?”

No one has asked permission to touch him like that before. For other things, like when Yasha would ask if he wanted her to pick him up when he was injured, or people who wanted to know if they could touch his horns after finding out he was a tiefling, but never for something so simple. “Uh…no, thank you for asking though.” Caleb shouldn’t get the idea that it’s okay to touch him, through his clothes or otherwise. It was bad enough that he grabbed him when he tried to leave. Molly doesn’t want that kind of familiarity with him.

“Oh. A-Alright. Um, were you thinking of buying this necklace?”

Molly shrugs. “I don’t think I need it, but it’s the only thing here I could afford if I _were_ going to buy anything.”

“I wouldn’t mind having something like that. You may not have noticed, but I am…ah, quite the weakling. Not as tough as you are, _Hübscher._ ”

“Heh, I’m not so tough either.”

“Could have fooled me.” There’s a hint of teasing in Caleb’s tone. His coat rustles again. “Ah well, if only I hadn’t spent all my money just now. Perhaps it will still be here next time we collect a bounty.”

Molly nods. He’s not coming back here, whether he can afford anything or not. “I’m going to wait outside.”

“Would you like company?”

“No. No thank you. I— I’ll be fine.” Molly pulls his hood shut and hastily exits the shop. As soon as he’s beyond the barrier keeping the rain at bay, he pretends to trip and fall face-first into some mud. He gets his clothes and face properly messy again. Only then does his heartrate slow back to normal.

Beau and Fjord return with hot drinks a moment before the other emerge from inside. Jester seems to have traded their items for a bright pink backpack. It stands out like a beacon in the dull evening light. While the rest gather and share their beverages, Jester comes over to Molly.

In Infernal, she quietly says, “Now if people are looking at us, they will notice my backpack first. If anyone asks what they saw, they would tell them, ‘Yeah there was this one kind of dirty guy, but also this girl had a _really awesome pretty pink backpack_.’” She smiles.

Molly stares at her for a moment, tears threatening his lower lids, then he smiles in return. “Thank you, Jester.”

“You’re _welcome_.” She takes a happy bite of the pastry Fjord bought for her and offers Molly a one-armed hug. Despite his reflexive shyness, he ducks his shoulders under her arm. He touches one of his horns to hers through his hood. He hasn’t used that gesture of affection with another tiefling in many years. The familiar sensation lightly vibrating down to his skull is a comfort.

With the hour growing ever later and their clothes all soaked from the rain, they make their way to the Leaky Tap, an inn that Bryce from Alfield recommended to them. At the desk they book three rooms under the silly group name they somehow agreed upon over the past few days: The Mighty Nein.


	5. Bonding in the Bathhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Nein discuss their future together, and what better way to get to know each other than through communal nudity?
> 
> (Also, Molly rolls a 3 on a stealth check and draws all of the attention he was trying to avoid.)

Somehow they get caught up in a political revolution within the hour. Or rather, Beau and Fjord do, and Caleb sends his familiar down to the meeting with them in the basement in the Leaky Tap and informs Jester and Nott of what’s happening with hushed whispers. Molly keeps one ear on the three of them but his eyes on the rest of the bar. Fortunately no one pays them much attention — though a few people do cast glances at Jester’s remarkably pink backpack — and from what Caleb says it sounds like the meeting in the basement is mostly to air grievances about how the Empire has screwed people over. There’s mention of something coming up to tip the power more favorably to the common people, but Molly is aware of how shitty the Dwendalian Empire is compared to the way others parts of Exandria are ruled, so as long as their group doesn’t get involved, these people can do what they please.

The next day Jester overhears a town crier saying the gnoll attacks in Alfield were stopped by the Crownsguard. She makes a big fuss and even tries to get the crier to correct himself and tell everyone _the Mighty Nein_ defeated the gnolls. Molly hastily pulls his hood shut then goes to retrieve her.

“Jester, remember how I’m trying _not to draw attention to myself?_ ” he hisses.

She pouts. “I wasn’t drawing attention to you, I just want people to know the right information.”

Molly grits his teeth. “But— But I—”

“It’s okay,” Jester says, patting him on the shoulder. “People don’t even know who we are yet. But they _could_ and then we would get hired for more jobs and we could make a lot of money and maybe you’d be able to afford something from Pumat’s!”

“That’s— Jester, I know the sort of reputation a group can get if they ruffle the right feathers, and I’d really, _really_ prefer if we keep things lowkey, at least for now, alright?”

Jester wrinkles her nose. “Welllll…technically it should be a group decision, don’t you think?”

Molly wonders, not for the first time, if he even wants to be in this group anymore. It’s not a matter of want though; he _needs_ them. He’s not strong enough to survive alone. He definitely won’t accomplish what he needs to without help. And Jester has a point. No one actually knows who the Mighty Nein are. People have already asked why they’re called “Nine” when there are six of them. No one has to know. He just has to keep his head down and continue to maintain his low profile.

Then Caleb goes and insists they all take a trip to the bathhouse. “There’s something about being naked together that I find eases the decision-making process,” he says. “And furthermore I could _really_ use a good bath.”

“So could Molly,” Beau says.

Jester crosses her arms. “Molly is fine the way he is. Mud is good for your skin, after all.”

Beau cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, but not if you leave it on like, all the fucking time.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, _Hübscher_ ,” Caleb says. “Nott doesn’t like the water either. You two can take a walk around town if you would like.”

A bath does sound really good though. Gods, Molly hasn’t had a proper bath in so long. But a bath means being naked. Being naked means taking off his gloves and bandages. He half-consciously touches his neck. None of them knows about the Order, from what he can tell. They won’t know what these mean. They’ll be curious though. They’ll ask questions. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating just thinking about it. Then again, the alternative is being alone with the little kleptomaniac, and he does _so_ want to feel warm water on his skin again. He has enough to get his own private bath. It’ll be fine.

“No, I don’t mind baths,” Molly says. “I can tag along.”

Caleb beams. “ _Wunderbar!_ Off we go then!” He takes five boisterous steps before turning on his heel to face the group, the big grin still on his face. “I have no idea where I’m going!” he exclaims.

They make a few stops on their way to the baths. First they swing by the blacksmith to sell the busted up weapons they looted from the manticore’s followers, Jester gets a new hand-axe, and they get a bit of gold to spread between them. Beau mentions to Caleb that, since he had asked their tour guide last night about libraries, that there is the Archives of the Cobalt Soul he could go to for reading material. Caleb’s eyes light up. Molly thinks about his father’s library, about the bookstore back home, how much Caleb would love it. Molly has to stop thinking. He’s only going to put himself in a bad mood. They stop at the King’s Hall to check the task board, and among the offers to join the military or turn in all traitors and criminals there is mention of a beast in need of slaying. Might not be the kind Molly wants to fight, but he’ll take anything, and the others agree it sounds like their kind of work.

At last they get to the Steam’s Respite. The older half-orc behind the desk asks if they want individual rooms or if they simply wish to use the common room. Molly is the only one who requests his own room.

“Come on, Molly,” Fjord says. “This is supposed to be a bonding experience, right?”

Jester taps her tail on Molly’s leg. “I don’t think they’ll mind,” she says. “You can tell them what you told me.”

Molly swallows. “I’ll come with,” he says. “I might not get in, but I’ll come with.” Except now he wants a bath so badly. If there’s no one else in the common room, he’ll get in with the others. If there’s even a single other person, he’ll come back out here and pay for a private bath.

There are four people in the common room. Molly is about to turn tail and run when one of them calls out to him. “Molly?”

He would be terrified if the sound of that voice didn’t fill him with relief. “Yasha?”

Squinting through the heavy steam that clouds the air, Molly can indeed make out the large form of his friend, naked except for the greatsword strapped to her back. “I never thought I’d see _you_ in a bathhouse,” she remarks.

Molly walks over to where she is reclined against the wall of the bath and sits down. He puts his hand up to block his view of her chest. “I didn’t think we would see you _at all_. When did you get to Zadash?”

“This morning. I met this funny little man who gave me a short tour then recommended I check out the bathhouse.”

Jester runs over, towel still wrapped around her. “We met him too! Isn’t he something?”

Yasha laughs. “Yeah, _something_.” Turning back to Molly she says, “I take it you’re not coming in?”

Molly shakes his head. “No, no I’m just here for the, uh, the steam.” He takes a deep breath. “Good for the lungs, y’know.”

“Aw, please Molly?” Jester says. In Infernal she adds, “I can clear the other people out of here _so fast_. Just watch.” Before Molly can stop her, she says loudly in Common, “Okay! We’re about to start the orgy! If you’re still in here in one minute that means you _have_ to join in!”

The other bathers make noises of alarm and disgust then rush out of the water. Jester grins at Molly, her towel twitching as she flicks her tail in satisfaction.

“What’s this I hear about an orgy?” Caleb calls out. “I left my good binding silk in my bag, should I go get it?”

“Your _what?_ ” Fjord exclaims.

Caleb laughs. “Merely a joke. Everyone knows you shouldn’t get knots wet.”

Nott pipes up, “That’s why I’m staying _out_ of the water!”

“Yes. Precisely. Neither knots nor Notts should go in the water. I, however, am _more_ than ready for this.”

Molly peeks. He knows he’s allowed to look at other people in a public bathhouse, yet a guilty blush adds to the heat from the steam condensing on his face. Caleb shucks off his towel and casts it aside with a flourish of his hand. He stretches his arms up, tightening and lengthening his already lean form. There’s a large scar — about the size of one of Caleb’s hands — on his chest in the rough shape of a sunburst. His bronze hair grows around it, causing it to look like a ghost of the sun in the last moments of a sunset. His pale skin is dotted with freckles, and his arms do indeed have scatterings of scars from wrist to shoulder. Molly’s eye twitches in his attempts to not look between Caleb’s legs, but his curiosity overwhelms his resolve. He feels a smug spark of pride noting that he is larger than Caleb in both length and width, but that is smothered in mortified shock when Caleb turns and grins at him before jumping in the water. Molly doesn’t have visible pupils, and he was looking out of the corner of his eye, yet somehow Caleb still knew Molly was examining him. Damn him.

One by one the others enter the bath. Jester does a cannonball that sends water splashing over the edge to lap at Molly’s boots. He wishes he could join them. Even the sound of the water is enticing. He touches the bandages on his neck. He can’t.

“You could slip in while the others aren’t looking,” Yasha says. She’s smirking up at him, one eyebrow raised. “It’s clear how much you want to be in there. I could distract them so you could go to the other end of the bath and sneak in.”

Molly’s mind is torn, but he doesn’t know when he’ll have this opportunity again. “Would you?” he asks.

“Sure. Go on.”

Molly touches her shoulder, his other hand still up to hide the rest of her from view. “Thank you,” he says, then he creeps off to the opposite side of the room.

Yasha says, “Hey Caleb, how did you get that scar?”

There’s a glow of pride in Caleb's answer. “This? This is where I was touched by my father, Pelor.”

Jester gasps. “Wait, like the _god?!_ ”

“No way,” Beau says. Molly can hear the eye roll that surely accompanies that remark. He made the same gesture. He’s almost one hundred percent certain he would know if Caleb were linked to Pelor at all, and aside from the pendant he wears there’s nothing to suggest Caleb is any closer to the Dawnfather than an average person. “Don’t listen to him, Jester. It’s another one of his stories.”

“Then how to you explain all the things he can do?” Nott asks haughtily. “He’s very talented with light _and_ fire!”

“Yeah, and so are like, a thousand other mages and stuff. Didn’t you say you needed books to learn more magic? Why wouldn’t you just _know_ it if your father is a god?”

“A test for his mortal son,” Caleb replies. “How better to prove one’s worth than to start with nothing and become the best?”

“Alright then, who’s your mother?”

“Why, the Archeart, of course.”

Molly pauses with his pants halfway down his legs. The Archeart is not one of the approved gods of the Empire. Whether Caleb is spinning a tall tale or not — and he most certainly is — it’s not safe to mention them here, especially when they _just_ saw a posting asking people to turn in heretical worshipers for a bounty.

Beau snorts. “ _Right_. You expect us to believe that _both_ your parents are gods. And the Archeart is the mother and father of _elves_. Your ears look pretty damn round to me.”

“Oh, and I suppose you look exactly like both _your_ parents?”

Molly is preparing to get into the water, but he winces at Caleb’s statement. He knows what it’s like for people to doubt one’s lineage based solely on appearance.

“Caleb, just admit you have regular parents.”

There’s a light splash. “Alright, perhaps I’m not certain about the Archeart, though I do give thanks to them when I can anyway. They brought magic to our world, and therefore I would not be able to do what I do without them.”

Molly tries to slip into the bath quietly, but with the surface of the water nearly opaque from the heat, he couldn’t judge how deep it was and he ends up losing his balance, tumbling in with a loud KA- _SPLOOSH_. He barely gets in a gasp of air before his is completely submerged. His feet find the floor and he quickly pushes himself back up. Once the shock wears off, he’s aware that the water only goes up just above his waist and far too much of him is exposed. He drops back down so only his head is sticking out before anyone can see him.

“Molly?” Jester calls. “Is that you?”

“Y-Yes, it’s me.” The water around him is brown from the dust and dirt washing away. That means his face is probably clean again. Shit. His tail swirls behind him to keep balance as he walks in an awkward crouch over to the others. They’d find out sooner or later, and at least they won’t see the eyes. And his tail is enjoying the stretch aided by the buoyancy of the bathwater.

Everyone is staring at him as he approaches and he doesn’t like it. And he sees far more of his new companions than he wanted to.

“No need to be shy here, Mollymauk,” Caleb says. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Molly still keeps himself low with his eyes focused elsewhere. “If you say so.”

“…Molly are you _purple?!_ ” Fjord asks. “How have I not noticed that?”

“Because I try very hard not to look it,” Molly hisses. A bit of water laps into his mouth. He spits it out. “But yes, this is my…natural color.”

Fjord looks to the others, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Was I the only one who didn’t know?”

“I mean, it does kinda show around his mouth and eyes and ears and stuff,” Beau says. “Why did you think his _lips_ were purple?”

“I…I might have also not noticed that…”

Beau huffs a short laugh. “Okay, you’re not allowed to do solo watches anymore. Your perception is shit, apparently.”

Jester pats Fjord. “It’s okay, you’re good at other things. Like voices! You’re really good at doing voices and disguises and stuff.”

“Caleb taught _me_ how to do magic disguises!” Nott says from the side of the bath. “Watch!” She makes a small gesture, a clumsy imitation of Caleb’s sweeping spellwork, and with a little mutter of the right arcane words she becomes a miniature version of Molly — clothed, thankfully. She lowers her voice and tries to copy his accent. “I’m Moh-lly, I’m _mysterious_ with my _cloak_ and my _gloves_ and the way I _never talk to anyone_.”

“Nott,” Caleb admonishes. “Be kind, now.”

Beau snorts. “I dunno, sounds spot-on to me.” She flicks a bit of water at Molly. “Molly, we’re _all_ fucking naked, and clearly we don’t _care_ about seeing each other naked. You don’t have to stay under the water like that.”

Molly’s tail quivers. It reflexively coils back around his waist. “I’m…fine. Thanks.” He’s not. His knees and back ache and they’re all still looking at him and maybe the water isn’t obscuring as much as he thinks it is and it keeps getting in his mouth and…and…

Jester comes over and feels around with her tail until she finds one of his hands, which she pats gently. “No one is going to make fun of you for anything, I promise. And there’s no one else here to see you.”

The anxiety still grips Molly’s chest like a dragon’s claws, but her attempts at comfort mean a lot to him. With Yasha back, he might be able to tolerate being around these people, and the longer he is the more likely it is that something will happen to reveal one or more of his markings. Best that he show them now when they have some privacy and he has a chance to explain himself calmly rather than sputtering something out in a frantic moment.

Molly stands to his full height. The steamy air is a tad cooler than the water, enough to make him shudder. He lets out a long breath to relax. His tail unwinds but stays close to his side, ready to wrap around his leg or wrist to ground himself. He doesn’t watch their reactions. He doesn’t want to know. He closes his eyes with the usual childish thought that doing so will make everyone else go away.

“Are those tattoos?” Beau asks with genuine intrigue.

Molly’s nose twitches in a wince. “Sort of.”

Not even Yasha has seen these. He keeps them well-hidden, since anyone who knows their significance would likely cause a scene upon spotting them. All nine of them tingle, or so Molly feels. He’s not using any of his powers currently, so they should all be dormant, but he’s still keenly aware of where each and every one is.

“Are they supposed to mean something?” Fjord asks.

Molly closes his eyes tighter. “…Sort of.” The one on his palm itches. He wants to go back under the water, or perhaps back to the inn where he can cover himself in blankets and not be seen for a long time.

“I think they’re quite striking,” Caleb remarks. “I could never get tattoos myself. To be perfectly honest — and while we’re revealing things about ourselves, I suppose — I’m horribly afraid of needles. The thought of things going into my skin…” The water ripples in a soft splash. Caleb most likely shook and disturbed it. Molly still doesn’t want to look at any of them.

“So that’s what you have under your gloves and bandages,” Yasha says.

Molly sighs. “Yeah. That’s it. Can we… Can we please not talk about them? They’re kind of a sore subject.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement. Only then does Molly open his eyes. They’re all looking at him, but in their faces he reads no recognition, no horror or disgust or suspicion, merely curiosity or confusion. Molly lifts his right hand until it’s just below the surface of the water. He turns it over. The red eyes on both sides stare back up at him. He clenches the hand into a fist and returns it to his side.

A clap from near the entrance sends a jolt down Molly’s spine. “Heat it up!” It’s the half-orc who runs the baths. Molly drops back down, taking a deep breath to kneel on the floor. After a moment the water around him gets warmer. Jester’s tail taps him, but he waits another few seconds before coming back out. As pleasant as the bath itself is, this whole experience is turning out to be nearly as stressful as he feared and he doesn’t like it.

There are no more questions or comments regarding the crimson eyes that glare out from Molly’s lavender skin. Instead they discuss their expectations for the group, how famous they do or do not want to be, what good they hope to do together, and so on. Surprisingly, Caleb is of a similar mind to Molly and suggests they keep a low profile, at least in the beginning.

“A bit of notoriety is all well and fine,” Caleb says. “After all, if you want people to know you can do the things you say you can, it’s good if they’ve heard rumors about you. It’s when they can recognize you on the street so they come up and beg for your help that such fame can be, ah, _bothersome_ , to put it lightly.”

Beau nods. “Yeah, that does sound annoying. Like, we want people to be all, ‘Oh shit! _You’re_ the Mighty Nein? Fuck yeah we’ll pay you to do this thing for us.’ But at the same time, if they’re looking for people to join the military or the Crownsguard, we don’t want them to come looking for _us_ specifically.”

“Exactly,” Caleb says. “And we’ll want to move along soon as well. Staying in one place too long makes you easy to find.”

Molly’s curiosity is piqued. Who did Caleb piss off with one of his tricks so badly that he worries about being found? Or perhaps Caleb made passes at the wrong person and can’t show his face in certain towns anymore. Molly doesn’t disagree with the notion; he doubts Zadash will provide him with the opportunities he’s looking for anyway. However, if Caleb is also on the run from something — or someone — then Molly will have to look over his shoulder twice as much. Unless, of course, Caleb is also trying to avoid being found by Blood Hunters, though what would Blood Hunters want with a carnival wizard?

Then again, what had they wanted with a scrawny tiefling who had to beg and flash his pedigree before they’d let him join?

They reach an agreement that they won’t actively advertise themselves, but they’ll keep using their group name so they can earn _some_ credibility. The other benefit of simply using "the Mighty Nein" to refer to themselves is that they don’t have to give people their individual names if they don’t want to. It’s not his name Molly is worried about others recognizing; the one he’s currently using is vastly different from his real name so no one would think that he’s the same person. It’s if word gets out that there’s a lavender tiefling in the Mighty Nein that makes him uncomfortable. As he told Jester, that’s all people need to ask about, then follow the trail of deeds done and battles won to find their group, and him with it.

But for now they need gold, and they will get gold for slaying whatever this “roving beast” is that the task board mentioned. Once they’re all dried and dressed, Caleb claps his hands together.

“Alright friends, we are relaxed, we are clean, so let us go get our hands dirty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I roll an actual d20 for certain checks. Molly could just as easily have gotten into the water unnoticed and continued to eavesdrop on Caleb ~~bullshitting~~ explaining about his various scars, but nope. Rolled a 3. Then I rolled again because the die smacked into something the first time and rolled...another 3. Third roll was a 17, but clearly the gods wanted him to have that 3, so...no stealth for poor Molly this time.


	6. Not Quite Gentle, Not Quite Social

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an evening of traversing sewers and killing spiders, Molly contemplates who he can really trust, and who he wishes would trust _him_.

The spider screeches as its blood boils from Molly’s curse. Its many legs twitch and its massive bulbous body slams into the walls of the sewers until it collapses. Molly is frozen in place. His scimitars clatter to the web-covered ground. He falls to his knees between them. In his mind he can hear them all screaming, trying their best to shake off his maledicts but it’s no use. His power is no longer his own. The curses pour from his mouth like ichor, amplified by the entity he allowed into himself, and for what? He was such a fool. They trusted him. It’s all his fault. All his fault...

Something bright enters Molly’s vision. It speaks with a Zemnian accent but Molly can’t make out the words. All he can hear is screaming. Pleading. Dying. Sharp pain in his face. Caleb slapped him. Molly blinks back to the eerily silent present. Those blue eyes are the first thing that come into focus. They shimmer with concern, then sparkle when they see he has regained his senses. “Hey, there will be time for that later, _Hübscher_.” Caleb smiles. “You alright?”

No. Molly nods.

Caleb kisses him on the forehead. His lips are warm, or perhaps they only feel like it because all the blood has drained from Molly’s face, leaving him cold with dread. Caleb takes his hands and pulls him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get out of this disgusting place.”

Leaving was easier said than done. They free the single survivor of the spider’s attack, a heavily tattooed halfling, and he points out an egg sac in the corner. The eggs begin to hatch and everyone works together to burn and crush the fist-sized spiders that emerge. With that danger gone, the looting resumes. Molly helps Yasha, his mind and heart still raw from his flashback. However, he occasionally glances at Caleb while he tries to think of whether or not he should thank him, and in doing so notices Caleb slipping looted items into some of the inner pockets of his coat. Frustration flares through the haze of painful memories. He _knew_ it. Caleb may act like he’s all about the team and working together, but he serves his own interests first and foremost.

While the others wait for Nott to open the grate so they can get out of the sewers, Molly beckons for Caleb to follow him off to the side.

“ _Was geht’s?_ ” Caleb asks.

Molly shoves Caleb against the wall. He leans in and puts both arms on either side of Caleb to pin him there. “Were you going to tell anyone else about all that extra stuff you found?” he snarls.

Caleb smiles sheepishly. “I know what it looks like, but—”

“But what? What possible reason could you have for pocketing loot without mentioning it to the others?”

“I was _going_ to give out certain items to people I thought could use them best and save everyone the trouble of bickering over them. Frankly I still don’t trust any of these people to see past their own needs even if letting someone else have something helps the whole group.” Caleb smirks. “And, _ja_ , maybe I was going to keep an extra handful of gold for myself — paper and ink are more expensive than you would expect — but we all did good work here today and I wouldn’t dream of cheating any of you out of what you’ve earned.” His expression softens. “ _Hübscher_ , are you sure you’re alright? You went a little, erm…spaced out there for a moment.”

Molly grits his teeth. His tail squirms under his sash. He pushes himself off the wall to stand firm with his arms crossed. “I’m fine.”

“ _Wenn du sagst_.” Caleb pats him on the cheek. Molly flinches away but a flicker of want sparks in his chest from the quick little touches. “As I said, we can discuss that later, if you wish. For now, it smells _awful_ down here and we have a corpse to deliver.”

The exit leads to the Trispires. It’s past sundown and there aren’t many people out and about, but the ones that are gasp or shriek at the sight of Jester and Yasha hauling the giant spider down the street. Molly keeps his hood up and his head down. He smears mud from the first puddle he finds across his face to replace what the sweat from being in those stuffy sewers washed away. The spider draws too much attention. Some of it might fall on him if he’s not careful.

They get their seven-hundred gold from the King’s Hall. Yasha asks if she can take some of the spider’s meat. Everyone, including the members of the Mighty Nein, give her funny looks about it. Molly doesn’t. Yasha told him a little about her life in Xhorhas while they were in prison talking about the worst things they’ve ever fought. She used to fend off spiders that were probably as big as this one when her tribe wandered too close, and the meat is considered a delicacy. Molly lied in his answer to her at the time. He’s coming to trust her, though, and maybe someday he’ll tell her the truth. In the meantime, he points out that no one else is going to use the meat for anything, so there’s no harm in letting her take it. Yasha leaves the King’s Hall with a big smile and a sack full of spider meat.

The kitchen at the Leaky Tap refuses to cook it, but Yasha gets permission to make a little fire out back to prepare it herself. Molly joins her for a while.

“Do they have spiders like this in Xhorhas?” Molly asks.

Yasha shakes her head, but pauses and thinks for a moment. “They might up north. Not where I’m from. The ones we fought couldn't turn invisible, but we were always told that things were worse up north. Cursed.”

Molly nods. He vaguely recalls the history of this continent. Eastern Wynandir hosted many major battles of the Calamity. The area is littered with ruins and wastelands that bear the scars of the gods’ conflicts, both physical and magical. Molly has respect for Yasha, if she survived in such a place her whole life. At the same time, he wonders what was so terrible that it drove her into the Empire, and why she can’t remember it — if she’s telling the truth about that.

They talk about the Mighty Nein a little. Molly still isn’t sure he trusts or even likes most of them. Jester has been very kind to him so far, and he appreciates her. However, Beau is abrasive, Caleb and Nott are both suspicious, and though Fjord tries to exert some form of leadership he seems easily overwhelmed.

“Did you want to leave, then?” Yasha asks. “Continue on our own the way we were before?”

Molly pokes at Yasha’s cooking fire with a stick. He thinks about Caleb. He thinks about his flashback. He thinks about what he has to accomplish if he’s ever going to find even a semblance of redemption. “No,” he says. “This might be a terrible group, but maybe that’s just because it hasn’t settled yet. We haven’t known one another very long. When you and I met it was…different. We were stuck in that prison together for a few days with nothing to do but get to know each other. With these people? Feels like everyone’s got something to hide and they’re not willing to get to know the others in case their own secrets slip out somehow.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I guess.” Molly shrugs with a sigh. “But we have done well together, all things considered. We’ve slain a fiend, a manticore, a mine full of gnolls, and now this thing.” He uses his stick to poke at the darkening spider meat. “We could probably help a lot of people if we just got our shit together. Someday we might be able to take on bigger things.”

“Bigger things?”

“You know, like…like…maybe not dragons or anything, but other monsters, other fiends, things that…upset the balance of the world.”

Yasha ponders a moment, brow furrowed. “The Storm Lord tells me to push myself. He gives me challenges that I have to do on my own. I think some of what he has me do is about restoring balance to things. But sometimes he tells me I have to ‘find my strength’. If I haven’t found it on my own, maybe I could find it with you? With them? That is, if you are going to keep fighting bigger and bigger things.”

Molly nods. “Absolutely.” Her devotion worries him sometimes. He knows what becomes of zealots. She’s not like the others, though, not entirely. He wants to be there for her to keep her from going down that destructive path. If he can convince her to stay with their group, even if it weren’t just so he wouldn’t feel alone among them, he thinks that would be good for her.

As they converse, Molly turns his own logic over in his mind. He talks about the strength of the group and aspiring to find some unity in the future, but he continues to give himself reasons to stay detached. He was so quick to snap at Caleb. Caleb didn’t seem bothered by it, but Molly has the urge to apologize nonetheless. He excuses himself from the fireside, promising to come back and try some spider meat once it is fully cooked.

Molly goes to the room Caleb is sharing with Fjord. He hears Nott’s voice inside. Not wanting to interrupt a conversation she and Caleb might be having, he turns to leave. Then he hears Caleb say his name.

“You are _not_ blaming a _single thing_ on Mollymauk! He has done _nothing_ to deserve it.”

A jolt runs down Molly’s spine, making his tail twitch. Something sour settles in his stomach, yet in itself it is unsettling. There’s no one else in the hallway. Molly quietly and casually leans on the wall by the door to listen.

“But it’s the perfect cover! He’s sneaky, and we don’t know a thing about him other than he keeps himself dirty all the time and uses weird magic! Would anyone really question why he would be stealing things from Fjord’s bag?”

“ _Ja! Ja_ they would, Nott, because he has _never_ done anything like that.”

“Not _yet!_ He’s a tiefling! They’re crafty. He could be biding his time until we least expect it, then when we’re camped in the middle of nowhere he’ll kill us all in our sleep and run off with our stuff! But if you took this letter—”

“First of all,” Caleb interrupts, “I have told you before, I am _not interested in that damn Academy_. If I were I would have asked them to write me a letter of recommendation as well. I get the feeling Jester could have persuaded them to do it. More importantly though, _‘He’s a tiefling’?_ You are a _goblin!_ We were _carnival folk!_ The others probably don’t trust either of us for the same reasons! Don’t get me wrong, I have thought about cutting loose and taking everything we could carry with us, but I am human! Molly’s race has nothing to do with _anything_ , nor does his cleanliness or lack thereof, _or_ how 'weird' his magic is. He is a good man and I will _not_ let you turn the others against him over a damn letter!”

Molly has to strain his ears, but he can hear Nott growl to herself. “You and I are different!” she exclaims. “I was just getting used to being— to— to being in the carnival and…and not having people run away from me. But if you went and learned more magic, we could put on our own show! Travel together! You could do more than just turn me into the Goblight. You could turn me into other things! It would be amazing! Doesn’t that sound like something we could do together?”

“ _Nottchen_ , did you see how much money they gave us just for killing one giant spider? That was more than the carnival could hope to earn in _months!_ And that was with more to draw a crowd than just one wizard and his assistant. True, we wouldn’t have to split the money among so many people, but even with sharing today’s reward with everyone else in the group, we’re still _much_ better off now than we ever were.” There’s a pause. “I understand, you are…nervous about fighting beasts and such, but you’ve been doing so well. Your quick thinking saved us in those mines, and your aim against those sewer rats was incredible. We’ve got all these other powerful people to protect us, _including Molly_. You and I will be fine. We’re still together, _ja?_ Still looking out for each other? If I went to this…this Academy, they probably wouldn’t let you stay with me. And a goblin alone in the capital city? It would be more dangerous for you there than anywhere else.”

Another pause. “But… But they’d have so many books at the Academy. You could read as much as you want.”

Caleb chuckles. “I would have to read what they tell me to read. That is how schools work. I have had a fair bit of luck finding interesting things in regular book shops.” His tone becomes excited. “And there is that smut shop! Remember I told you I found my best spellbook in a smut shop? Even if I don’t find anything like that here, there is still _smut!_ It is a win-win situation!”

“So…you’re saying I _shouldn’t_ steal the letter? Even if everyone _would_ believe us if we said Molly took it?”

“ _Genau_. I like these people. I like Molly, even if he is…odd.”

A door opens. Molly leaps to the center of the hall and begins walking as calmly as he can in whichever direction he is facing. That direction happens to take him to where Fjord is exiting the washroom.

“Hey, Molly,” he says. “Did you need to um…to get washed up?”

“Oh, er, um…” Molly considers telling Fjord what he heard, at least about Nott trying to steal the letter of recommendation he got for the Academy. That way if Nott did end up blaming him for its disappearance, he would have this alibi. It sounded like Caleb convinced her not to steal it, though. The only problem is there’s nowhere down this hall for him to go to except the washroom. “Well, um I don’t think they’d want all of this in the communal wash basin,” Molly says, gesturing to the grime on his face. “But I figured I could wipe off the layer of sweat I’ve got under all these clothes.”

Fjord nods. “Yeah, alright. You do, uh, keep yourself pretty well-covered. I imagine it gets…pretty uncomfortable at times.”

Molly shrugs. “There’s different kinds of comfort. This is mine.”

“Well alright then.” Fjord salutes Molly with two fingers and continues on to his room. Molly hears him greet Nott as he enters, followed by Nott leaving.

Molly locks himself in the washroom. He slumps down onto the floor with his back to the wall. He wishes he could have heard what else Caleb had to say about him. Part of him is still pining for the closeness they had on watch that one night. If Caleb truly likes him, they could have more moments like that, more nights on watch where Molly can relax in Caleb’s arms when he needs to. Every other part of him knows that’s absurd. He can get a hug from Jester if he wants one so badly. It just wouldn’t be the same. Molly droops his head back, horns hitting the wood of the wall with a dull _kthunk_. He should have never let Caleb touch him. He shouldn’t care whether Caleb likes him or merely tolerates him. Furthermore if Caleb knew the truth, he wouldn’t like Molly at all.

And yet Molly can’t deny that he desperately wishes that Caleb would.


	7. In Search of Porn and Pastries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE EPISODE OF THE SMUT SHOP IS FINALLY HERE
> 
> Also Molly almost cries because of a brownie. He should probably talk to somebody about that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how, but after the dust settled this chapter is only a thousand words shorter than the three previous chapters _combined_ , which means its is longer than _all but four of my other fics_ , three of which are multi-chapter. Buckle in, it's a long ride.

Their well-earned rest after the day’s events gets temporarily put on delay. The halfling they freed from the sewers knew someone called “the Gentleman” that Beau read about in a letter she stole. That monk was so unbelievably greedy for information. Molly knew a few people who would gladly hire her as an interrogator, if she didn’t give the impression of being so unprofessional. Still, the others wanted to check out that lead, which took them to the dingiest bar Molly had been to in years, the Evening Nip. Since it was the middle of the night and nothing from the décor to the patrons seems even remotely inviting, they decide to investigate during daylight hours.

“Who do you think ‘the Gentleman’ is?” Jester asks.

“Probably some crime boss,” Beau says nonchalantly, as though she deals with such people on a regular basis. “Might have work for us though.”

“Do we _want_ to work for a crime boss?” Nott asks. “I mean, won’t that get us in trouble with…everyone?”

Beau shrugs. “The thing about cities is that they _know_ having a criminal element is actually good for them, which is why they don’t just flush guys like this out as soon as they can. Not only does it give them reason to have certain laws in place, but sometimes they can negotiate with the ‘bad guys’ to do things the ‘good guys’ can’t be seen doing, and in exchange they like, let the drug dealers expand their territory a little or turn a blind eye when someone gets murdered or something.”

“Also underground networks, both literal and figurative, are good in a crisis situation,” Molly interjects. “If your city is under siege, the people who are already smuggling stuff in and out can do the same for vital supplies, or people.”

“Yeah,” Beau says with a confused glance at Molly. “That too.” She doesn’t inquire how Molly came to that conclusion. The one good thing about her is that sometimes she can tell when it’s best to not stick her nose into something…for a while. No doubt she’ll bombard him with questions later, most likely if they’re alone together. Molly will see to it that that doesn’t happen.

They return to the Leaky Tap to sleep. The storm that rolled in that night shook the walls and the roof, waking Molly more than once. He loses count, but at some point he notices Yasha staring out the window. A flash of lightning illuminates her face. “Do you need to go again?” Molly asks blearily.

She nods, not turning to look at him.

“Could you… Could you not? Please?”

Her face remains turned to the storm, but her eyes glance towards him. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to.”

She looks back out the window. “The Storm Lord wants me to, though.”

“Hang the bloody Storm Lord.”

A muscle in Yasha’s face twitches.

“I didn’t mean that. I just…” Molly sighs. He pushes himself up to wrap his arms around his knees. “I don’t want to be alone with these people. They don’t like me.”

“I don’t think they like me, either. No one really likes me.”

“ _I_ like you.”

Yasha smiles with a soft chuckle. “I like you too, Molly.” Her smiles fades. “I _have_ to go though. It’s like you said, he wants me to make something right.”

Molly watches the storm. All he sees is the occasional streak of light through the sooty clouds and the glow of the street lamps illuminating the raindrops that hit their window. “Is he at least telling you when you’ll be back?”

She shrugs. “Dunno.” She gets up and sits on the foot of Molly’s bed. “You’ll be fine without me.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be back.” There’s no mention of “soon” or “eventually” or anything like that. It’s merely a promise that she will return.

Molly reaches out in his drowsy state to take her hand. It’s something he has never done before, not unless either of them were helping the other off the ground. She accepts his hand regardless. Her skin feels cool through his gloves. “Be safe,” he says.

Yasha smiles again. She pats the back of his hand. “I will. Tell the others.”

“You’ll find us? Even if we leave again?”

“Of course. I always do. I get the feeling you’ll be here a while. It’s a very big city, lots for you to do.”

“Wish you could stay and do it with us.”

“This is more important.”

Molly sighs. “I know.” He squeezes her hand. “Take care out there.”

“Take care back here.”

Yasha gathers her things and slips out into the rain. Molly watches for her through the window, but his view doesn’t overlook the front door and she doesn’t pass by where he can see her. Exhaustion from the fight with the spider and his flashback tugs at him until his head is back on his pillow, his eyes are fluttered shut, and he drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, before he can even announce Yasha’s departure, Fjord and Beau bring up the resistance meeting they were invited to by someone they met at the last one, a dwarf named Ulog.

“You’re not going, are you?” Molly asks.

“Yeah, why not?” Beau says. “I wanna hear what these guys have to say.”

Nott pipes up. “What if they invited you so they can ritually sacrifice you?”

Fjord looks around the table. “Well, you guys are gonna join this time.”

“No,” Jester says at the same time that Caleb says, “We are!”

“Oh.” Fjord chews one of his nails. “I mean, you don’t all have to come if some of you wanna stay above, I just wanted to put the invite out there.” He furrows his brow. “Where’s Yasha?”

Everyone immediately turns to Molly. The familiar prickle of unease from being stared at makes Molly’s tail writhe against his stomach. “She left,” he says, taking a long drink from his morning ale. When he puts it down they’re all still staring. “What?”

“She just _left?_ ” Beau asks.

“Yeah, she does that. I told you.”

“Well is she coming back?”

“Yes, of course she is.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say.”

“Then how do you know she’s coming back?”

“Because she always does.”

“That’s kinda creepy.”

Molly curls his lip in a mild snarl. “I don’t think so. Look, she’s a good person, she just has…personal things to take care of. When she’s here, she’s helpful, and when she’s not, we shouldn’t worry about her, alright? If you had something _you_ needed to do on your own, you wouldn’t want any of us asking endless questions about it, would you?”

“Alright, settle down,” Caleb says, hands outstretched to Beau and Molly. “It is early, we had a rough day yesterday, some of us are probably still on edge, but we have more important things to discuss. Yasha is not here, and that will be taken into account in our plans, but otherwise her business is not _our_ business. Now, about this meeting…”

The others gladly return to their previous conversation. Jester and Caleb offer to stand guard upstairs, though Frumpkin will accompany Nott to the meeting because Caleb is curious about what the “Knights of Requital” wish to discuss. Fjord and Beau agree to take Nott, if she comes in disguise. Bringing a goblin to such a meeting would probably send the wrong message about what they think this group wants to accomplish. After they help Nott craft a good disguise using the spell Caleb taught her, Molly gets the question he has been trying to answer to himself this whole time.

“Which would you rather do, Molly?” Jester asks. “Go down to the meeting or stay up here with us?” More quietly she adds, “You and I probably stand out too much and it would be easy to recognize us as part of a meeting like that. If we’re both up here, then if anyone asks everyone else would tell them that we were having drinks all night.”

Molly’s opinion of Jester is rapidly changing. At first she made him nervous with her bright outgoing personality and her lack of personal boundaries. She is proving herself to be quite good at defending the boundaries other people set up, though. Without Yasha here, Jester is the closest thing to an ally that Molly feels he has in this group.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “I’ll stay up here, keep an eye out. Besides, they probably don’t want _too_ many people at this meeting. Large crowds draw attention, after all.”

Jester grins. “We can play cards or something! It’ll be fun! And Caleb can tell us what we’re missing down there.”

Ah. Caleb. Molly was so caught up appreciating Jester’s thoughtfulness that he forgot Caleb was also going to be on watch. It won’t be just the two of them, which is a relief, but Molly will still have to be at a table with Caleb for Ioun knows how long with only Jester as a distraction. Jester is a bountiful source of distractions, but Molly’s stomach clenches regardless. If his opinion of Jester is changing, then his opinion of Caleb is like setting a compass on a giant block of iron; the needle won’t stop spinning and Molly can’t tell where he’s going.

Molly clears his throat. “Yes, that’s… That sounds like fun.” He glances down into his drink.

“If we’re concerned about sending people who stand out too much downstairs, then perhaps Nott is better off up here?” Caleb suggests. “I know I am quite a sight myself, but at least I am human.”

“But Caleb, I just spent all that time working on my disguise!”

“I know, Nott, but—”

“Actually, Caleb, you have a point,” Jester says. “You are very noticeable, even if you weren’t wearing that coat.”

“I have a dull cloak I can wear instead, or I could magically disguise myself.”

“I want to go to the meeting!”

“Yes, Nott, but—”

Fjord interjects, "Caleb, you should stay up here, since you're the best talker and if the Crownsguard show up you can distract them and, I dunno, have your cat scratch Nott to let her know that they're here.”

“Well… I suppose that makes sense. Alright then. You mentioned a game of cards, Jester?”

“Yeah! And instead of money we can bet with _candy!_ ”

“Do you have that much candy?”

“Not right now, but we can find a candy store. I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere.”

A tinge of excitement brightens Caleb’s tone. “There are stores that sell nothing but candy?”

“Sure! At least there were in Nicodranas.”

Molly listens to this whole exchange with his head bowed, not looking at anyone or checking to see if they’re looking at him. He watches his dull reflection swirl in the remnants of his ale. Caleb didn’t want to spend the duration of the meeting with Molly either, from the sound of it. Maybe he feels guilty that Nott wanted to blame Molly for stealing Fjord’s letter, or maybe he’s upset after Molly accused him of withholding loot from the group. A voice in the back of Molly's head that sounds like his father says, “He probably noticed the change in _your_ mood when Jester said his name. You can’t blame him for acting on that.” His father did always instruct Molly to think rationally, not that he had a history of following that advice himself. If only Molly had heeded him though…

The mention of going out and finding a candy store leads them to planning what they’re doing with their day before the meeting. Fjord and Beau want to go to the Invulnerable Vagrant, since they didn’t go in the last time, but Jester has to go back to the Trispires to return a key to the Pillow Trove and Caleb wants to tag along in search of a candy store or the smutty bookshop they were told about. The guards wouldn’t let him in when he tried to go with Jester before, saying ‘low-class charlatans’ weren’t allowed on the nice side of town, but Caleb swaps his coat for his far more ordinary cloak in hopes that they will let him in this time. Molly doesn’t want to go back to the Invulnerable Vagrant, but if the guards at the Trispires wouldn’t let Caleb in simply for wearing an ostentatious coat, they certainly won’t let someone as filthy as Molly in.

“You could wash your face, just this once,” Jester says when he brings this up to her. “I have a disguise kit. I can make your skin a different color so people won’t notice.”

Molly has one of those kits as well for emergencies. He doesn’t use it all the time because he would need a new one every other week, but in this case it’s a better option than wandering the city alone. He wants to be with Jester anyway, even if Caleb will be there too.

They split into their groups. Nott goes with Fjord and Beau, though she fusses over Caleb before they leave, making sure he has his coin purse and that it’s in a safe place and tucking stray hairs back under his braids and asking if he wants anything from Pumat’s while she’s there. It’s almost funny to watch this tiny goblin girl mothering a full-grown human man. Then again, Nott did mention she was of “child-bearing age” so perhaps her maternal instincts are merely affecting her behavior. Caleb takes it all in stride with a smile and says, “Well, there was this one necklace…”

The make-up feels distinctly different from dirt on Molly’s face. He keeps his hood up and a wary eye out, but aside from the usual curious glances no one pays him much mind. Jester tried to match her own skin tone so she could tell the guards he was her brother. Caleb has the cloak of his hood up against the rain, but the lack of glaring color makes him look rather different anyway. He even has a dour expression that is out of place on his face. Jester suggested it so he would seem more like her bodyguard, a ruse that did not work so well the previous day.

After some persuading the guards allow all three of them through the gate. The Trispires is a horrendously pretentious place, even on a dull day such as this. They were in a bit of a rush to get out last night and it wasn’t as obvious in the dark, but Molly can see straight through its façade the moment he walks in. There’s nary a weed nor smudge nor stray pebble that doesn’t look like it wasn’t placed there intentionally to make this part of the city appear lived-in. However, it strikes Molly as an elaborate bit of theatre, a performance for the benefit of its inhabitants who have agreed to play their part as they walk its immaculate stage, pretending they’re so much better than the unwashed and unfortunate masses on the outside. His mother would hate it here. He already does, a little.

As soon as Jester hears that Chastity’s Nook is next to a bakery, she rushes off to the Silken Terrace with Caleb and Molly struggling to keep up with her. They pass by several nice neighborhoods, too nice in Molly’s opinion, and the three towers that give the district their name loom within sight for their whole trip. Jester isn’t interested in sight-seeing; her mind is on pastries, and everything else may as well be heaps of brick and wood for all they matter. Caleb turns his head every so often to observe some marvel of architecture or display of splendor, but he also continues at an unyielding pace. Molly wonders if he’s more excited that the smut shop might have a book of magic hidden away somewhere, or if he just really, _really_ wants to read some smut.

They know they’re getting close when the scent of warm baked goods hits them. Molly detects hints of raisins, cinnamon, rosemary, and the distinct welcoming smell of dough. His heart momentarily yearns for home, sitting by the counter watching his mother pull one of her latest creations out of the oven. If all of his siblings were gathered there she wouldn’t let them sneak any before they were given to guests, but if just one or two were they she would let them split a cinnamon bun or doughnut.

Chastity’s Nook is more easily noticeable than the bakery, and it’s clearly by design. Amid the larger, more impressive shops sits what at first glance appears to be a thatched roof country cottage. As they approach it becomes clear that this is merely a projected aesthetic, and that under the thatch is a proper sturdy wooden roof. The door is partially open with a warm light spilling out. However, Caleb suggests they go to the bakery first.

“I  _have_ to know what that smell is,” he says. "My stomach won't forgive me if I don't.”

“It's pastries," Molly says. "It smells like pastries. Which makes sense because it is a  _bakery_."

Caleb clicks his tongue. "So  _sour_ , Mollymauk. Perhaps you need something sweet to counteract that attitude of yours. And what about you, Jester? Do you have an appetite?"

“I _always_ have an appetite for pastries!” Jester says. She charges for the bakery door.

There’s no sign on the outside to indicate the name of the establishment, but it is called the Meal Hearth. The available pastries are lined up on a long table. Employees of the bakery are constantly moving to and from the kitchen to replace the stock as new items are ready to sell. Jester’s eyes sparkle with delight. Molly has an urge to reach out with his tail to grab hers before she eats everything on the table, but his tail is restrained under his belt. He puts his hand on her shoulder instead.

“Remember,” he says, “ _discretion._ ”

Jester nods. Immediately afterward she calls out, “DO YOU HAVE BEAR CLAWS?”

A young man, even younger than Molly, with unkempt brown hair and a short stubbly beard looks up from where he is setting a tray on the table. “Um, yes, hello, we do have bear claws.”

“Are they made with lots of cinnamon?”

“Er, we can do that for you, yes?”

Jester gasps. “ _Yes!_ ” She turns to Molly and says, “That’s how they make them in Nicodranas.”

Molly has already pulled his hood tighter around his face. His faith in Jester wavers.

“How many bear claws would you like?” asks the young man.

Caleb steps up. “We would like, er, let’s say ten bear claws, as well as…” He carefully examines the spread before him. “What do you call these?” he asks, pointing to a stack of flaky pastries with a glistening jam-like substance in the middle of a raised dough border and cream drizzled on top.

“The fruit crowns?”

“Fruit crowns! We will take six of them! And…” Caleb looks over his shoulder to Molly. “What seems good to you, _Hübscher_?”

Leaving seems like the best idea at the moment. The young man is staring at Molly, waiting to hear what he wants. Molly thinks back to the kitchen, his mouth watering and tail flicking with excitement as his mother pulls a tray from the oven. “Brownies,” he says. “I— I like brownies.”

“Ooo!” Jester says. “Brownies _are_ good! Especially when they’ve got a gooey chocolate center and you need like, three napkins to eat them.”

The young man says, “Well, um, we do have brownies, but they uh, they don’t have a gooey center, if that’s alright?”

“Sure!” Jester says. “There’s no such thing as a bad brownie, right Molly?”

“N-No, I guess not…”

“Then we will also take a dozen brownies, pleeease!”

“And do you have any warm loaves of bread?” Caleb asks.

“Uh… I think we have some coming out of the oven in a minute, but they’ll be too hot to sell for a little while, er… maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes?”

Caleb smiles. “That is fine, we had plans to go next door for a few things. We will come back for your freshest loaf of bread, as well as ten bear claws, six fruit crowns, and make that _fifteen_ brownies.”

The young man blinks in surprise at the order. “O-Okay then, I’ll, um, get those wrapped up for you for when you come back. Will you be paying in advance?”

“ _Natürlich_.” Caleb produces the necessary amount of money as well as a substantial tip. “See you in twenty to twenty-five minutes.”

“Wait! Give us one of the bear claws and a brownie for now.” Jester says. “Caleb, did you want anything to eat right away?”

“No thank you.” Caleb holds up his hands with a grin. “One does not go _in_ to a smut shop with sticky fingers."

Molly wishes he could have left with Yasha last night. Then again, he hasn’t had a brownie in years, and wherever Yasha went most likely does not have a bakery.

Jester gives Molly his brownie with a flourish. “Can I trade you a bite of that brownie for a bite of my bear claw?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure.” His mother also made bear claws, though they were, ironically, not what she was best at. He loved her brownies, though. She made them the regular way and as blondies, but he liked the ones that were all chocolate. They were always so moist, and she mixed in chocolate chips that were melty fresh out of the oven and on many occasions she had stooped to wipe away any chocolate that got on his nose or chin despite the way he always protested because he wanted to wipe it off with his fingers and eat it. His chest aches with the weight of his memories. He almost loses his appetite completely. Almost.

Molly takes a bite of Jester’s bear claw first while holding out the brownie for her to nip off a corner. They did indeed load it up with cinnamon for her. The flavor is intense enough to make him cough. Otherwise the glaze is sweet but not too sweet and there are a few raisins in his bite. It’s not bad at all.

“ _Mmmmm_ ,” Jester hums. “That is a _good_ brownie. Not the _best_ brownie, because the _best_ pastries are all in Nicodranas, but it’s still pretty good.”

“Same with this bear claw.” Molly wants to tell Jester about his mother and her baking. He wants to tell her about his home and the pastry shop she would love to visit. He still preferred the treats his mother baked at home, and he thinks Jester and his mother would get along so well, but he keeps his mouth shut and simply chews what’s left of his bite. He can’t mention his family. He told Yasha a little, when she talked about her tribe and her own family, but mostly what she knew was that he had not seen his parents or siblings for many years. Yasha didn’t ask questions. Jester would want to know where his family was from, what they did, why he left, why he never went back, all the things he doesn’t want to talk about.

The brownie is indeed good. His mother’s are better. He wonders if she still makes them. He wonders if she thinks of him when she does, if she does. He is not about to start crying in front of a smut shop with a mouthful of brownie. Not only will that invite questions, but it will smudge the make-up Jester put so much effort into. He crams the rest of the brownie in his mouth, somewhat grateful that Caleb ordered a few extras, and pushes forward into the Chastity’s Nook.

For a shop that tries to appear simple and rustic, the inside is quite beautiful. The first thing that hits Molly is the smell. There’s the waxy scent of candles, the thick aroma of oils, and the familiar chaos of assorted incenses being stored in proximity to one another. It’s coming from table in the center of the shop where all those things are displayed with neat little price cards. In addition to those and the smut, there are also bits of décor for sale, such as rugs and embroidered tapestries, which Molly was not expecting. Caleb’s eyes are only on the books, though Jester has that tell-tale hint of mischief in her smile as she takes in their surroundings.

They aren’t the only one there today; five other customers are perusing the books or stacks of artwork. The chilly breeze that follows them through the door announces their arrival and causes everyone in the shop to quickly dart their heads to see who just entered, nervous as rats in a pantry, before relaxing and resuming their previous activities.

A mousy voice catches their attention. “Um, hello?” The voice is coming from a somewhat middle-aged human woman with bushy curly hair that falls past her shoulders. She’s wearing a cozy sweater and looking at them through a large pair of glasses. “Can I help you?” she asks.

Caleb immediately turns on the charm. “ _Guten Tag_ ,” he says with a bow. “My, that is quite the handsome sweater you have. Did you get that from around here?”

The woman giggles. “Oh, thank you so much. It was a gift, actually.”

“A lovely gift for a lovely woman,” Caleb says. “What is your name?”

“Iva. Iva Deshin.” She giggles again as her cheeks turn rosy. “And this is my shop.”

“And a _wonderful_ shop it is. Very fragrant, and I simply _love_ those tapestries you have for sale. Were I not a wandering man I would buy one in a heartbeat. However, as a man of the road, I often find myself in need of entertainment and I was hoping to purchase some new reading material while I was in town. This shop was highly recommended to me, so perhaps you could help me in that regard?”

Iva grins knowingly at him. “‘ _Recommended_ ’? You want the _back_.” She points to the far wall where there are multiple scrolls unfurled to show expertly painted nude portraits of men and women from various races.

Caleb’s eyes light up. A grin of his own spreads across his face. “My dear Iva, you have read my mind. Your reputation is well earned.”

“Were you looking for anything in particular?”

Leaning in close to her, Caleb says, “My good lady, I’m looking for the kind of book that would make the most depraved harlot blush. A book so steamy that just being in its presence makes you yearn for the touch of another. The sort of book that would make others gasp if they knew you had even _looked_ at it. Surely there must be _something_ of that nature in your wondrous collection?”

Iva nods with a conspiratorial smile. “Something, might I say, _forbidden?_ ”

“Ooo, Iva, I would not suggest that such a fine establishment could possibly sell _forbidden_ goods. Though, perhaps, if among your recommendations, one such title happened to be a book that is not meant to be in just _anyone’s_ hands were to come up, something that someone could _learn_ a thing or two from…”

“Ah, I see.” Iva winks. “Come with me, then.”

She leads them to the back. Some of the people who are furtively thumbing through tomes with fainting women and rugged men painted on the covers scurry to a more private position. Molly feels quite safe in this place. Everyone here is trying not to be recognized. He is a little uncomfortable in the presence of the nude paintings, though. There are a few that catch his eye as especially alluring and his clothing suddenly feels too hot and too tight. He’s no blushing virgin, but given his isolation in the past few years coupled with recent encounters — his eyes dart briefly to Caleb — he finds himself with urges that he knows cannot be satisfied but that only grow stronger the more he glances at the illustrated men and women posing seductively at him. He picks up a book and flips through it without reading the words just so he can turn his focus anywhere else.

Iva is gesturing to a few stacks. “We have _Zeminian Nights_ , very popular. There’s _The Enchanting Tryst_ for those who want more of a fantastical perspective. _Scent of the Sea_ for the traveler who enjoys their perusal.” She winks. “That one is outer Empire, so folks have varying interest, and while it’s not _forbidden_ , exactly, there are some, um, mildly controversial opinions expressed…” She clears her throat and continues. “There’s _Tusk Love_ , that one’s a little more saucy. If you find yourself in the mood for something more gentle, something that’s more of a classic love story, we have _Guard of My Heart_. _Shallow Breaths_ is a bit more bawdy. And if you’ll come _this_ way…” Her tone is more secretive. Caleb follows excitedly.

Jester, instead, snatches up a copy of _Tusk Love_ and reads it with a manic grin. Molly checks which one he grabbed. It's a copy of _Guard of My Heart_. He’s really not that interested in it, but at least he didn’t pick up something too embarrassing. Whatever Iva is going to offer Caleb had piqued his curiosity, though, so he puts it down and silently walks behind them.

Very quietly but with a hint of enthusiasm Iva says, “It’s been banned for the past fifteen years, but I _do_ have a couple of reclaimed copies of _Courting of the Crick_ , if you’d be interested.”

Caleb grins. “Oh I’d be _very_ interested. Everything you have said to me in the past five minutes has been interesting, but we can start with this, hm?”

Iva adjusts her glasses. “Well, because it is technically not supposed to be here, um, it’s a _bit_ pricier, and will run you about fifteen gold pieces.”

“For that price it _must_ be good,” Caleb says. “However, I would like to see the book, check the quality and condition of it. You did say these were _reclaimed_ copies? As in, secondhand? I just want to be sure I’m not paying for damaged goods.”

“Of course, of course. They aren’t secondhand, but they did have to be… _rescued_. If you’ll wait one moment, please.”

As soon as Iva turns her back, Caleb makes a subtle gesture as he mutters under his breath. His blue eyes flash a richer shade for a second. A pulse of magic rapidly expands out from him, so faint Molly wouldn’t have been able to notice if he hadn’t been trained in how to detect and destroy the incorporeal. Caleb glances around. He looks to one of the people hunched over trying hard not to be seen as they hurriedly read through what might be a copy of _Shallow Breaths_. He frowns. “ _Mist_ ,” he hisses.

Jester comes over with _Tusk Love_ clutched in her hands. “Where did Iva go? I want to buy this.”

Molly cocks an eyebrow at her. She has flirted with Fjord a few times since their journey together began, more so than her normal way of interacting with people, and he isn’t sure if buying this book is supposed to act as another hint for Fjord that she is into him, or if she actually just has a thing for half-orcs.

Caleb doesn’t respond to her. He walks back towards the front of the shop, examining every shelf. His fists clench and his shoulders droop. By the time he returns to the back he’s pouting in disappointment.

“Are you okay, Caleb?” Jester asks.

“ _Ja_ , fine.”

“Do they not have the kind of smut you like?”

Caleb regains a little perkiness. “Oh, no, quite the contrary. I would gladly read every last book in this shop, had I the time to do so. _Nein_ , there was, um, something I was hoping they might have, but they do not. It is not a problem. Which book did you want?”

Jester’s tail wiggles. She launches into a description of _Tusk Love_ based on the print on its back cover and what she has read so far. Something about a human named Guinevere and a half-orc named Oskar who fall in love but can't be together because she's a merchant's daughter and his parents don't trust humans or whatever. Caleb expresses interest, but it sounds like just another silly romance novel to Molly.

Iva returns with a book-shaped bundle wrapped in doeskin. She reveals its contents, which is indeed a copy of _Courting of the Crick_ in almost pristine condition. “So this is the piece…”

“May I hold it?” Caleb asks.

“Yes, yes, but…” Iva looks towards the door. Caleb nods. They huddle over the book, both their backs turned so no one can see what they are looking at. Molly keeps an eye out, but everyone is still more concerned with themselves than what the shopkeeper is up to.

Jester peeks over Caleb’s shoulder. “Are there illustrations?”

Caleb jumps slightly. “Ah! No, no pictures so far.” He flips through the book, but Iva takes it from his hands and closes it, partially covering it with the doeskin.

“Ahem, um, please understand, if you are interested, I would happily sell this to you, but I can’t let it be out like this without some assurance—”

“Of course,” Caleb says. “And I can see why it was banned. I think, perhaps, this is, erm, a bit more forbidden than I was expecting. It is an interesting piece, to be sure, and your secret is safe with me, but I’m afraid I will have to pass this time.”

Iva nods. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

“But you said _Shallow Breaths_ is quite bawdy?”

“Oh, _very_ much so!”

“Then I will take a copy of that.”

Jester holds up her book. “And I would like to buy _Tusk Love_ , please!”

Molly snickers. That is probably the loudest anyone has ever spoken in a smut shop since the first one was built.

Iva smiles. “Alright, and um, anything for you, um, sir?”

It takes a moment for Molly to realize she’s talking to him, since he is sneaking one last glance at the nude portrait he liked the most. “Hm? Oh. Uh…” In a mild panic and not wanting to seem like he’s the type to walk into a smut shop just to ogle the artwork, he blurts out the title from the stack of books that was below the painting. “ _Scent of the Sea._ ”

Caleb makes a soft noise and smirks at Molly. Molly wonders if his blushing is visible through his make-up. He hopes not.

Jester whispers something to Caleb. He shakes his head. “A bit dry,” he whispers back. She nods.

After they pay for their books, Iva says, “Um, if you’re ever interested, uh, I do my own writing, uh, and I’m in the process of finishing uh, the third chapter with my next series.”

Jester squeals. “Oooooo, can we see it?”

Iva blinks and adjusts her glasses. “Well, it’s not _done_ , you see…”

There’s still time before their bread will be ready and Molly is starting to like it in here, so long as he doesn’t look at the far wall too often. “I’d like to read what you have so far,” he says.

Caleb makes that noise again. Molly has the urge to swat him, but his tail is still under his belt. To Iva, Caleb says, “I am intrigued as well. What is your niche?”

“Well…” Iva blushes. She opens a drawer and pulls out a page, which she puts on the counter for them to read. “Now, I need this back because it’s part of my manuscript, but you can have a glance over it.”

Jester picks it up, tail wagging in delight. Since she is in the middle of their trio, Caleb and Molly lean in to read.

_Garret leaned back to show off his strong handsome chest. His muscles were like a bull’s: beefy, but with less fur and more golden hair. “How can I get this at a cheaper price?” he asked. He licked his lips. He hoped Armeth could understand that he was willing to barter, but he was going to barter himself._

_Armeth’s eyes shone like mischievous pools of midnight. “I don’t know, how much are you willing to pay?”_

_“Well, I only have so much,” Garret said. He slid his hands down to bring Armeth’s attention to the growing protrusion in his pants. It was his manhood, and it was willing to do whatever Armeth asked. “But I’m sure you could find some worth in it.”_

_“I’d have to examine the goods first,” Armeth said._

_“Oh, they are goods alright,_ very _good.”_

At that point Molly stopped reading. It was already too much effort for him to make sense of the words without discovering that there wasn’t a lot of sense to begin with. From what he can tell, this banal banter continues for the rest of the page, and Jester and Caleb were both done anyway. There was no point in standing here wasting effort in reading this if they were ready to go.

“Do you like it?” Ida asks nervously.

Caleb nods. Molly can see through his fake smile. “You certainly know your way around…hefty equipment,” Caleb says.

Ida beams with pride. “Yes, my family worked with machinery like this. I helped out too, before I got into writing.”

“It shows! Well, keep up the good work.”

“Thank you,” Ida says, taking the page back from Jester. “I’m hoping to have it published within the next three or four months, so _do_ come back!”

Caleb nods again. “If we are in town. As I said, we do an awful lot of traveling.”

“Oh, well, should you ever find yourself in Zadash again…”

“Absolutely,” Caleb says. “I wish you the best of luck.” He puts another silver on the counter. “To support your work.”

Ida’s eyes go wide. “Thank you! Thank you very much! And safe journeys to the three of you, wherever you may go.”

As they leave, Jester quietly giggles. She whispers so only they can hear, “While she was in the back, I left a note in one of the books.”

“Did you?” Caleb says with a grin.

“Yeah! I wrote, ‘We’re watching you. We saw you come in.’ It was that book with the Crownsguard crest on it.”

“ _Guard of My Heart_ ,” Molly says. “That one was _Guard of My Heart._ ”

“Oh yeah! That’s the one you were looking at! Did you not like it?”

Molly shrugs. He hadn’t actually read it, not really. He picked up a few words here and there, but not enough to have an opinion. “Wasn’t to my taste.”

Caleb’s grin grows wider. “Then I take it a tale of seamen is more your preferred taste?”

It’s such a bad joke, terrible. Molly doesn’t want to dignify it with a response, partially because he can’t think of a good enough retort. He can’t think of anything. Well, he can think of one thing, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to be thinking about that right now. Maybe with Yasha gone he can think about that once he’s back in his room with the door locked. Except the figure in his imagination goes from the person in the painting to Caleb, and Molly immediately slams the mental door on that. He clears his throat. “Brownies,” he says hastily. “Brownies are my preferred taste. Right now. Let’s go get them.”

Caleb and Jester both giggle. Molly wishes they wouldn’t. Being back out here in the rain with people around is bad enough. He wants to get his share of the pastries then retreat to somewhere dark and private to enjoy them. The image pops back into his mind as something else he can enjoy in private and he nearly claws at his face in frustration.

They pick up their order. Caleb breaks the bread into three pieces and hands some to Jester and Molly. “There is nothing better on a cold day than fresh hot bread,” he says. “Not only does it keep you warm on the inside, but you can hold it in your hands like this and it keeps your hands warm!”

Jester blinks at him with a slight frown. “You know you can just buy mittens, right?”

“Yes, but I can eat this.” Caleb rips off a bite-sized piece and shoves it in his mouth. He smiles. “I’zz gooood.”

The warmth of the bread seeps through Molly’s gloves. He takes a little bite, then follows Caleb’s advice and uses it to stave off some of the chill. It’s pleasant, even if the bread gets a little soggy from the rain.

They don’t find a shop specifically for candy, but after asking around they come across a more high-end general store that sells sweets. Jester purchases a big bagful so they won’t run out of betting material during any card games they play later. Afterward, they head to the Pillow Trove so Jester can gather what she left in her room and return her key. She invites Caleb and Molly up with her. It’s better than standing in the rain or waiting by himself in the middle of a place where it is hard to blend in, so Molly follows behind her and Caleb.

The room is much nicer than the ones they rented at the Leaky Tap. It’s small, but beautifully decorated. There’s even a balcony. Molly rubs the obviously fine sheets between his thumb and forefinger, even though he can’t really feel it through his gloves.

“Did you want to lie down?” Jester asks.

“Oh, no,” Molly says, quickly withdrawing his hand. “Even like this, I’m still too filthy. Wouldn’t want to soil—”

“No no! It’s okay!” Jester interrupts. “I rented the room so I can do whatever I want in it, look!” She whips the covers off the bed and throws them on the floor.

“ _Hübscher_ ,” Caleb says, “if you don’t mind my asking, why do you wear those gloves all the time? We have seen what is under them.”

Molly crosses his arms to tuck his hands under his elbows. “Because.”

Jester whispers loudly. “ _He doesn't want people to remember what color he is._ ”

Molly glares at Jester. She sheepishly bows her head. Her tail sways apologetically.

“Why not?” Caleb asks. “I think you are a lovely color.”

“Lovely, but easily noticed,” Molly says. He growls a sigh. “Easy for people to point out if someone comes asking about a lavender tiefling.”

Caleb tilts his head back. “Ah. I recall you were also nervous about our group gaining a reputation.” He frowns. “Does this have anything to do with the way you’ve been isolating yourself all these years?”

Molly doesn’t answer. His tail writhes under his belt.

“No one is watching you, now. No one but us, and you can trust us.”

“Can I?” Molly snaps.

Jester sits on the bed, her head still low. “I’m sorry, Molly. I shouldn’t have told him.”

Molly can’t stay mad at her. She’s really starting to remind him of one of his sisters. “It’s…okay,” he says. He loosens his belt to free his tail. He twists it around to stretch out the mild cramps, then walks over and winds it around Jester’s tail. He tells himself it’s just simple tiefling-to-tiefling contact. It shouldn’t make him nervous. He did this plenty of times when he was younger as a sign of familial affection. Even so, something in his chest rakes at the bottom of his heart.

Jester smiles. “You really are a pretty color.”

Molly sits next to her. “Thank you.”

Caleb feigns offense. “I call you pretty all the time and you think I’m joking, but she calls you pretty _once_ and _she_ gets a ‘thank you’?”

“The difference is that I like her,” Molly says teasingly.

“Oh _I_ see how it is. You prefer the company of tieflings, is that it?” Caleb turns up his nose with a huff. “ _Well then._ ” With a mutter and a wave of his hand, Caleb becomes the male tiefling he tried to entice Molly with previously, albeit more modestly dressed.

Jester puts her hand over her mouth. “Wow! Caleb, you look _hot!_ ”

Caleb bows. “Glad to see someone appreciates my efforts.” He grins and hops onto the bed on Jester’s other side. “See? We can all get along. We are in a beautiful room together, we have a magic bag full of baked goods, and we all have new smut to read.” Leaning in he says, “What if we stayed here while the others go to the meeting?”

“I want to know what happens, though,” Jester says. Her tail twitches, still wound with Molly’s. “It sounded like they wanted to do something about how shitty the Empire is.”

“It does seem like a shitty place sometimes,” Caleb says. “Not as a country itself. I have traveled it quite a bit and I’ve seen many wonderful places with wonderful people. Unfortunately, the shitty people are the ones in charge and they do shitty things.”

Molly is a little confused. “Aren’t you from the Empire?”

Caleb stares at him with his golden tiefling eyes. “Yes, of course. I am Zemnian.”

There's something stiff in his response that tickles the back of Molly's head the wrong way. Of course anyone who grew up in the Zemni Fields is part of the Empire, but the way Caleb spoke… “So would you rather be at that meeting so you can talk to other people from the Empire about how shitty things are?”

Caleb shrugs. “I could. We agreed it’s better if I stay with you, though.”

Jester turns to Molly. “Molly, are you _not_ from the Empire?”

Molly doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want her to ask any further questions. “I am…not.”

“Oh! Where are you from, then?”

“Elsewhere.”

“ _Where_ elsewhere?”

“Jester,” Caleb says. “I don’t think he wants to talk about it.”

“Oh." Jester squeezes her tail around Molly’s. “Do you not want to talk about where you’re from?”

Molly still can’t decide if he likes Caleb at all or if he's annoying enough to be unlikable. “I do not. Thank you for asking.”

“Okay.” Jester shrug off her backpack and sets it on her lap. “Do you guys want some pastries?”

They enjoy a few baked goods, not caring much if they get crumbs on the bed, though Molly tries to eat his brownie neatly. Jester has another bear claw, but Caleb tries one of the fruit crowns. Apparently that one had cherry jam in the middle, which he explains as flakes of pastry fall from his mouth and pass through the illusion of his tiefling clothes. When he dispels his disguise, his cloak is speckled with them. He brushes them off before they leave.

“Let’s go back to the stinky part of town,” Jester says in a mildly disappointed sing-song voice.

“We can come back,” Caleb says. “The others should see this place. Maybe after we collect another bounty we can come rent their largest room for one night and have a party to celebrate.”

That lifts Jester’s spirits instantly. She and Caleb discuss this potential party all the way back to the Leaky Tap. Molly tosses in a few suggestions, though he does not fully join the planning. Instead he ponders the fact that neither Caleb nor Jester seem to dislike him. Jester wouldn’t because she is also a tiefling, and Caleb already said he doesn’t care what Molly looks like because after traveling with the carnival “normal” becomes a meaningless term. It was odd enough befriending Yasha. He considers Jester more his friend than Caleb, but then again he has yet to figure out his thoughts on Caleb. That damned image of Caleb posing like the figure in the painting returns. Molly clenches his tail around his waist. _No._

They meet up with the others and exchange information. Fjord and Beau casually interrogated some of the Pumats and found out that they work for the Cerberus Assembly. Jester tells them about their time in the smut shop. Caleb presents everyone with pastries, and Nott pulls the pendant from the Invulnerable Vagrant out of her pocket for him.

“I actually paid for it and everything!” she says proudly.

Caleb scoops her up in a hug. “Thank you! Thank you thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” she says. When he sets her back on the ground she also holds out a handful of coins. “And here is your change.”

“Nott, I gave you the exact amount plus some for tip. Did you not leave a tip?”

“No, I did, but…” Nott shuffles her feet. “You need your money for paper and ink, so I paid for…most of it.”

Caleb sighs, but he smiles at her. “ _Nottchen_ , you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine. I still have plenty. Besides, you need this. I read what it can do. I think it’s _very_ important for you to have it.”

Caleb gives her a kiss on the forehead. “ _Danke_.” He puts it on. The heart-shaped pearl charm hangs just above his symbol of Pelor. “How does it look?”

“Looks amazing,” Fjord says. “Seems right at home.”

“Aw, Fjord you are too sweet.” Caleb fiddles with his new accessory. He smiles at Nott. “Next time, though, _I_ will buy _you_ something nice.”

Nott smiles back. “Oh, I don’t need much. Knowing you’re going to be okay is enough of a gift for me.”

“Well at least take an extra bear claw.”

“That I can do!” Nott wolfs down the pastry so messily Molly reflexively ducks further into his cloak to avoid the attention she is bound to draw.

They take the afternoon to rest, enjoy their baked goods, share the rest of their information. Molly slips away to his room shortly before dinner. Jester tells everyone else about  _Tusk Love_. Fjord, as Molly suspected, looks extremely uncomfortable and wary of the heavy-lidded glances Jester keeps giving him. Caleb skims through some of  _Shallow Breaths_ after Jester asks about it. His face turns bright red and he slams it shut.

"Ahem, when she said it was bawdy I wasn't expecting… Erm, never mind that. When is this meeting, again?"

Jester demands to read some of  _Shallow Breaths_ , but Caleb tucks it away and will only answer or ask questions regarding the meeting. There isn't much left to discuss, and instead they separate again to rest until midnight. Molly tries to read some of his new book, but it takes him over an hour to get through the first chapter and while the plot seems interesting, his brain is tried so he sits alone polishing his swords instead. Their group reconvenes shortly before the meeting, and already people are discreetly arriving and disappearing through the same door Fjord and Beau entered last time. Nott dons her disguise, confirms a few things with Caleb that he wanted her to bring up for him, then follows the others down to the cellar. Molly hopes that whatever happens down there, Beau, Fjord, and Nott won't allow the Mighty Nein to get too tangled up in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time...
> 
> Hospital Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates to come (though somewhat sporadically). Please leaves kudos and comments, and if you want to support my work even more you can find me on Ko-fi under the same name!


End file.
